The Night Of The Outlaw
by Andamogirl
Summary: Artemus Gordon suffers from a severe concussion, a sprained ankle, and a temporary amnesia. He returns home, to his mother's house, for his recovery. Adventures ensue and something else arises, painful and personal. This story features a cat and a kitten as guest stars.
1. Teaser

**THE NIGHT OF THE OUTLAW**

 **By Andamogirl**

Author's notes: Season 1.

Summary: Artemus Gordon suffers from a severe concussion, a sprained ankle, and a temporary amnesia. He returns home, to his mother's house, for his recovery. Adventures ensue and something else arises, painful and personal. This story features a cat and a kitten as guest stars.

Reference to TNOT Burning Diamond.

References to my stories TNOT First Mission & TNOT Comanche Moon & TNOT Mexican Imposture.

 _Baines: "West and Gordon: the unconquerable duo."_

 _Baines: "Oh by the way, where's West today? I was told that you two always work together."  
Artie: "Well, we always do work together. Separately."_

TNOT Burning Diamond.

Many thanks to my beta reader englishtutor.

WWW

 **TEASER**

BANG!

The single gunshot resounded on top of the hill.

Hit in his right temple, Artemus Gordon cried out as white hot pain exploded on the side of his head. He fell sideway from his horse and rolled down the side of the steep slope, meeting bushes, small rocks and even a tree on his way down toward the river.

He was unconscious long before reaching the shingle bank.

Chestnut whined in distress and looked down, seeing his master's body lying, immobile, huddled against a boulder along a river.

Shortly after two men, one holding a rifle, scrambled down the ravine as fast as they could move, but prudently, and finally crouched beside the unconscious agent lying on his side, on a bed of pebbles.

The man with the rifle touched the side of Artie's throat for a pulse and found a strong beat pressing against his fingers. "He's alive!" he said. "That's good!"

The other man frowned angrily. "Good? Good? I hope so. He has murdered two Marshalls and three federal agents. He's worth 10,000 dollars! It's a fortune!" He paused glaring at his younger brother. "Who taught you to use a rifle, you moron? You had to kill his horse, not shoot him! He's wanted _alive_! Not dead. I should have done that myself! You're good for nothing, you're lucky to be my brother, otherwise…"He spotted blood running down the side of Artemus's face and added, "I hope he will wake up! That's a nasty injury he has. And I hope he's still in one piece – and I doubt it, after such a fall down here." He pulled out the folded wanted notice from the inside pocket of his vest, looked at the picture… and gasped in surprise. "That's not him! There's a certain resemblance but it's not John Coyote!"

Caleb paled. "What? How so that's not him?"

Lenny took Artie's limp hand in his and observed the back of it. "Coyote has a scar here… He doesn't." He opened the other man's right eye. "His eyes are brown – and not blue." He ran a nervous hand on the nape of his neck." It's not Coyote. But he's in the region, people saw him."

Caleb frowned. "Then?... What are we going to do?"

Lenny stood and his brother copied him. "Go fetch the horses and his too. I don't want anyone to find out what happened to him. He'll have to have vanished into thin air."

Caleb paled a little more. "You want to abandon him here?"

Lenny nodded. "Yes, if we bring him to the next town, Old Creek, the sheriff will ask us questions… and you're a poor liar, Caleb. I don't want to end up in prison…"

Caleb looked down at Artemus, watching blood soak his white shirt. "He's going to die, Lenny. It's… it's murder. We're bounty hunters, not murderers."

Lenny grabbed his brother's arm. "I don't want to end up in a cell or you either right? Go fetch the horses, now! Go!"

Caleb nodded and reluctantly headed back toward the steep slope.

He came back 15 minutes later with the horses. Chestnut moved toward his fallen master and nuzzled his face, trying to wake him.

As they mounted their horses, Chestnut suddenly reared and managed to free himself. He left in a gallop in the opposite direction.

Lenny nodded. "Blood frightened him… When he comes back, his owner will be dead." Then he spurred his mare into a trot, Caleb following suit.

WWW

 _Later in Old Creek, Illinois_

Sitting in the sheriff's office, holding a cup of coffee, James West glanced at the old and decrepit clock hanging on the gray wall, frowning in concern.

His partner was late, and Artemus Gordon was never late. Never. He considered being late to be a deadly sin, he mused. "Something is wrong," he said. "Something bad happened to Artemus…"

Not worried at all, Paul Burke, the sheriff, took the pot of fresh coffee and poured himself a second cup. "Relax Jim, Artie's on his way. He should be here in a moment. He may have taken longer to say goodbye to his mom and to Harry. They had not seen each other for months."

His sixth sense nagging him, Jim shook his head and stood. "I should have stayed with him instead of coming here first."

Burke nodded. "He wanted to be alone with Helena and Harry. He won't see them for a while. By the way, how was your stay?"

Jim turned his cup of coffee in his hands nervously. "It was perfect. I spent a week sleeping like a log in a large bed and not in a bunk, and that's a major change. I spent a week eating both American and Polish cuisine – and it's delicious! Helena is a marvelous cook. I know now why Artie is one too; It's hereditary. And Artie and I went fishing in the river, walking in the forest and did some swimming and canoeing on the Galena Lake. One night we got drunk – plastered - and smoked cigars, and we talked all night long about everything and anything, while sitting on the porch. We do that when we're on leave. It's relaxing." He glanced at the black hot beverage in his cup and added, "Helena tried to teach me how to make good coffee. I tried and almost-failed. Artie said my coffee was decent. It's progress…he usually finds it undrinkable." He stood up, restless. "I have to see if he's okay. I'm sorry for always thinking the worst, Paul, but Artie's a magnet for trouble. I'm leaving right away. I'm sure he's in danger… I can feel it deep in my bones, Paul. Come with me?"

Burke nodded. "Of course, Jim." He gulped his coffee.

WWW

 _Later along the river_

His vision blurred, Artemus headed toward the horse waiting next to a boulder. His horse? His horse was a white mare, not a chestnut gelding. Or not. He wasn't sure anymore, he thought.

He looked around him, lost and disoriented. Where was he?

He grimaced. His ears were ringing, his head felt stuffed with cotton, and it was throbbing. He touched his temple and hissed through his teeth.

His fingertips were red with blood: his blood.

He frowned. He was hurt, bleeding. What happened? He took another step, swayed a little, then his leg gave out under him. He landed hard on pebbles and let out a muffled cry of pain and pinched his eyes shut. He managed somehow to sit on the grass and glanced at his clothes. They were not the clothes he had chosen this morning, he reflected.

His eyebrows knitted. He was a little confused about what happened. He had left home early this morning, had been riding towards Galena to meet Ulysses S. Grant. Grant, who was an ex-Captain, was leading a mass meeting to encourage recruitment. And he was ready to fight for the Union Army… and nothing. Black emptiness, he recalled.

He blinked twice and his vision began clearer. He had been attacked on his way to Galena. A bullet had hit the side of his head… he remembered.

He closed his eyes as his head flared in pain.

He opened them again feeling the horse nuzzle his head, and noticed that it wasn't his saddle nor his saddle blanket the gelding had on his back. He had been attacked… and the person who did that had stolen his horse and left him his horse instead. But why? Maybe because his horse was a better steed? But this horse knew him, because the gelding was now sniffing at his face with affection. But how? "This is the first time I have seen him," he said.

He raised his hand and rubbed his forehead between his eyes where it was aching. "Good horse… I'm imaging things; maybe you're affectionate with everyone…"

Grabbing the horse's mane, he stood up and leaned against the gelding. His knees were quivering, barely supporting him. He waited for the world to stop spinning and he swallowed as nausea was rolling through him.

He kept his eyes closed, gritting his teeth and the nausea subsided a little.

Placing his foot in the stirrup he hauled himself with difficulty into the saddle. Once there, he rested his throbbing head on the horse's.

He took the reins and kicked the horse into motion, weakly, sweating profusely, trying to keep the dizziness at bay. His temples were throbbing with a blinding pain in his head and his vision was starting to go dark around its edges.

He breathed. "I'm going to be late for the General's review… " Then, perched on Chestnut, feeling dizzy, he let out a long, miserable groan. He gagged and struggled to force back the bile that rose in his throat, but it came back and he promptly vomited.

WWW

 _Later, on the road along Eagle Ridge Forest_

Mounting his stallion, Blackjack, Jim West was reaching the top of the hill when he spotted his partner riding Chestnut.

He raised his hand. "Artemus!" he smiled. Artie was fine, he thought.

But his smile vanished from his lips when he noticed that Artie was slowly sliding from his saddle… and gasped, his eyebrows drawing together in concern when he saw the other man fall to the ground heavily – and twist his left foot.

Artemus let out a sharp cry and blacked out.

Jim jumped off his horse and ran toward Artemus, who was sprawled on his back in the middle of the narrow and dusty road.

Paul Burke halted his horse, too. "He's hurt!" he said, sliding off his horse, running toward the two secret services agents.

In an instant, Jim was down on his knees beside Artie and, he immediately noticed all the blood covering the right side of his face that was beginning to dry tacky against his cheekbone and chin, coming from a deep gash at his temple. His partner's face was white as a sheet, covered with a sheen of sweat, his eyes only half-open, like his mouth, he noticed with dread – like he was dying.

Feeling panic rise, he shook Artemus's shoulder. "Artie! Wake up!"

Slowly, painfully, Artemus reacted and opened his eyes sluggishly. "Wha… wha…'ppened?" he asked, watching Jim with unfocused eyes. "Hurts…"

Burke fished a clean handkerchief in the inside pocket of his vest and pressed it against the other man's head injury. "A bullet did that," he said." Then he pressed it on the wound, trying to ignore the hisses of pain from Artemus.

Placing a gentle hand against Artie's the unbloodied side of his face. "I know, it's not the first time he's been hurt that way. Artie, listen to me, what happened?"

Closing his eyes Artemus mumbled, "Need to see Ulysses S. Grant… Galena… my horse was stolen… going to be late… can't be late…need to enroll…"

Sheriff Burke frowned puzzled. "What? He's going to see a General in Galena? To enroll? I thought he was supposed to join you to escort John Riker." Riker was currently secured in one of Burke's cells, awaiting transport to Chicago, and then to Washington, D. C.

Following his intuition, Jim asked, "Artie, what's the date?"

Opening his eyes again, Artie whispered, "1861… I don't remember the day… my head hurts. I-I remember now… there was a gunshot and a bullet grazed my temple…" he automatically raised his hand to touch his injured temple.

Burke caught Artemus's hand mid-way. "No, don't touch it," he said. Then he raised his eyebrows in surprise and blinked. "1861? But we're in 1874!" He nodded. "I know, I saw that once during the war, to people who took a blow to the head. He has a temporary amnesia."

Pointing at the scratches crisscrossing Artie's face, neck and hands, and at his torn clothes, he said, "He fell from his horse and probably rolled down somewhere…" He gently lifted Artie's head, brushing his tousled hair aside, examining his scalp for any outward signs of injury. He nodded as he saw and touched a bruised big bump at the back of his head. When he removed his fingers, there was dark dried blood on them. "You're right, he took a blow to the head and he has a severe concussion, and it has provoked a temporary amnesia, and he's probably all bruised up too."

He pressed Artie's limbs here and there to see if the other man's bones were still intact and Artie winced. When he reached his left ankle, he screamed.

Burke cursed under his breath. "He hurt his leg falling from his horse."

Jim nodded. "Yes. It's okay Artie, you're in one piece, but your ankle is sprained, I think." He looked up at the sheriff and added, "As you know On April 12, 1861 the war began. Two days later President Lincoln called for 75,000 volunteers and a mass meeting was held in Galena to encourage recruitment. The former Captain Ulysses S. Grant was asked to lead it, and he helped recruit a company of volunteers and accompanied the regiment to Springfield, the state capital…"

Paul Burke nodded. "I was there, and Artemus too. I was at his side; we enrolled together. But we didn't serve together. That was too bad. He was my best friend. We grew up together. He was chosen to be in the cavalry and I in the infantry. There was another of our comrades with us, John Forbes. He was in the infantry, like me. But we ended in different companies – I don't know what happened to him. He was a nice guy but he didn't like to mingle with us… I mean Artemus, Frank, Lyle, me and the rest of our band… he was shy and always stand-offish…He looked like Artemus a little, but with blue eyes. I hope he's okay. So many dead people…" He sighed and added, "Then… he thinks he's heading to that mass meeting in Galena?" Jim nodded. "Okay, let's bring him back to his home; it's closer. Old Harry is going to take care of Artemus."

Immediately Jim pulled Artie's arm around his shoulders and hefted him up. "He's not going to be able to stay upright in his saddle…"

Artie screamed again as soon as his left foot touched the ground. He mumbled unintelligible words, then something incoherent about his horse and passed out.

The sheriff helped Jim to hoist Artemus across his saddle; then, using a rope, he secured the injured man on top of Chestnut.

He mounted his horse, and Jim copied him – grabbing Chestnut's reins. "Let's go!" he said, and they headed toward Green Hill.

Tbc.


	2. Act One

**THE NIGHT OF THE OUTLAW**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT ONE**

 _Gordon's house, Green Hill_

Helena Gordon, standing on the porch of the house gaped in shock and her heart nearly stopped. Blood drained from her face.

She froze, staring at James West – her son's partner and surrogate brother - moving in her direction, holding Artemus's limp body in his arms close to his chest.

Paul Burke was following them, his face drawn.

Horribly pale, she leaned against a column, swaying slightly, her legs like jelly. "Dear God!" she let out, her voice trembling like the rest of her body. "Artemus is dead." Then she shook her head in disbelief as tears sprung to her chocolate-colored eyes, talking to herself, "That can't be. No. It's impossible. He, he just left the house thirty minutes ago, he can't be dead! No!" She added, talking to Paul this time, "He was fine… he played with White Socks on the porch… he can't be dead."

Paul Burke rushed toward Helena and slid a hand under her elbow, pulling her against him to comfort her. "No, he's not dead, Helena, he's injured but it's not life-threatening," he told her, softly. "He's going to be alright. Shhh, calm down."

Reassured a little, the petite, old woman closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath. "Thank God!" she said. She looked down at Artemus's slack and white-as-a-sheet face through her eyes blurry with tears, and brushed his scraped jawline tenderly. Artemus's skin was living-warm, not dead-cold she noticed with relief. She smiled. His beloved son was still alive. She kissed his hair lovingly. "My poor boy… Bring him inside, Jim, in his bedroom, please."

Jim complied.

Paul nodded. "I'm going to fetch Harry in Galena. Don't touch Artemus until the Doc's here," he said and then he was sprinting in the direction of his horse.

WWW

 _Later_

Paul Burke and Harry Clover entered Artemus's bedroom a couple of hours later, both weary, sweaty and dusty after a top speed ride between Galena and Green Hill.

Using Paul's knife, the doctor cut Artemus's left boot, freeing the other man's swollen ankle. Then he quickly divested his patient of his clothes save his short tight-fitting underwear.

Helena gasped in shock as she surveyed her son's battered body, covered with scratches and cuts. Paul immediately took her in his arms in a comforting gesture. She moved a trembling hand in front of her mouth, crying softly. "Artemus…"

The sheriff kissed the top of Helena's head, pressing the distressed woman against him. "Shhh… He's going to be okay, Helena. He's tough and Harry is the best doctor of the region."

Harry sat on the edge of the bed and pressed a couple of fingers against his patient's pulse point and found it fast but strong under clammy skin.

He placed a hand on Artie's forehead. He winced at the heat which radiated off the man's skin. "He's feverish," he said. Then he gently pushed Artie's head to the side to have a better view of his injury. The side of Artemus's face was covered with dried blood. "The gash has bled a lot; it's not too deep, but it's going to be stitched," he added. He glanced at Helena, smiling reassuringly. "It's not the first time I've taken care of Artemus. I have seen better but I have seen worse." Then he rolled his patient on his side and probed the large bump he had on the back of his head. Blood had dried there too and he noticed splinters inside. "He probably hit a tree or trees on his way down the hill…"

Harry opened his big black bag and fished a pair of tweezers and a box inside and began to remove the splinters one by one.

Sitting on the side of the bed, frowning in concern, Jim pointed at Artie's nasty-looking left ankle. "He's hurt here too, Harry. That looks quite bad."

Harry nodded. "Yes, I know, but bleeding injuries come first."

Jim nodded and while the doctor was busy pulling the splinters out of Artie's nasty bump, he looked around him, still fascinated.

He loved Artemus's bedroom.

It was more a library and a lab with a bed and a bedside table than a real bedroom. All the walls were covered with books, except one – the one with the window. On each side of the window, two shelves contained wooden models of diverse machines and sophisticated mechanisms, boxes filled with chemical equipment, two musical instruments: a violin and a bow, and a flute. There was a table under the window and a chair. It was covered with different-sized sketchbooks and there was a pencil holder containing Conté crayons, a few pastels and a couple of graphite pencils.

He smiled, continuing his musing. Artie had basically the same thing on board the Wanderer. The library was distributed between his sleeping compartment and his lab; he kept in violin in his room too, but had no flute, but he had a big lab to do his chemical experiments – and not just a few boxes filled with chemistry equipment. He also had sketchbooks and pencils to draw his incredible inventions there.

Once the splinters were sitting in the box, Harry placed it on the bedside table and using a cloth and an herbal homemade disinfectant loaded with alcohol, he gently dabbed the wound.

A couple of seconds later there was a low moan and Artemus's eyes snapped open. He squinted in the bright morning light and he grunted. "Ow… hurts!" he let out with a final hiss through his teeth, his scratched fingers clutching weakly at the bedspread.

Harry patted Artie's leg. "Coming around son? You know, it reminds me when you fell from that cherry tree in Trevor's field. You had a nasty bump and a sprained ankle too…all that _for a fistful of cherries_."

Blinking, his brain still a bit fuzzy, Artemus shifted and rasped, his voice scratchy and dry, "I wanted to give them to Lily. She loved cherries." He coughed weakly and licked his chapped lips. "I'm so thirsty," he said. "Need to drink…thirsty…"

Helena immediately left the room for the kitchen to fetch a basin and a glass of water.

Blinking Artie asked, "What happened?" There was a new hiss.

Harry frowned. "Be still! I'm not finished." And this time, he poured the disinfectant directly on the abrasion and punctures left by the splinters.

Immediately Artie grabbed the bedspread and grunted, squirming a bit. "God! It burns like fire…" he let out through clenched teeth.

The doctor smiled. "I know, but it's the only way to avoid infection, sonny. By the way, you're the one who told me how to make that disinfectant." He poured disinfectant on the cloth again and warned, "It's going to sting a little…" then dabbed the gash let by the bullet.

Artemus groaned out loud and instinctively jerked away from the doctor, as if he was burnt.

Harry commanded, "Be still!"

Jim moved on the other side of the bed and pressed down on his shoulders to hold him still. "He's going to be still, now."

Looking up at Jim Artie asked, "I remember you… you're the one who found me on the road… what's your name?"

Jim smiled. "My name's James West."

Frowning Artie said, "That's odd… your name is familiar but this is the first time we've met… well, the second time… Ow! Harry! Ow!" His head thundering, feeling dizzy, he swallowed hard, forcing down the rising nausea. Retching here and now wasn't a good idea, he mused.

Harry was now pouring the disinfectant liberally into the wound. "It's for your own good Artemus. The next thing to do is to stitch that gash."

Helena Gordon came back, holding a basin and a glass of water as well. She sat the basin on the bed and Harry placed the bloodied cloth inside. "Thanks Helena," he said before sitting the bottle of disinfectant on the bedside table.

Helena let out a muffled sob. All that blood.

Concerned Artemus tried to move on his back – but couldn't as Jim was holding him in a firm grip. "Mom? I'm alright, it's nothing, don't worry yourself."

Helena sat on the edge of the bed beside Jim and brought the glass to her son's lips. "Take small sips or it's going to upset your stomach."

He complied, sipping the water slowly, and he whimpered when he noticed that his mother's face was wet with tears.

Helena managed to half-smile reassuringly. "Harry is going to take good care of you, Artemus. You should be up and around in not time…" She sat the empty glass on the bedside table and added, "I'm going to prepare you an infusion of peppermint, and it will do you good. You love that."

Finally realizing that his mother was older than the last time he had saw her – that morning, he frowned, deeply puzzled. "Mom? You have white hair… and you look older. It's like you have aged ten years in what? One hour or two? But that's impossible."

Holding a needle and thread, Harry said, "You have a severe concussion, Artemus, and it has provoked a temporary memory loss. You have forgotten what happened before that blow to your head… and your memory is stopped on April 14, 1861. I don't know why… probably because it's an important date for you, the day you chose to enlist in the Union army. Your mother aged thirteen years since that date, Artemus, and you have too. Today's date September 8, 1874."

More than astonished, Artie croaked, "Wha-wha-what?"

Helena Gordon nodded. "I'm 64 now, Artemus, and you're not 31 anymore, but 44. I know, it's difficult for you to believe this…but it's the truth." She placed her hand on Jim's back. "This man, James West, is your best friend, or rather the brother you never had. You and he are working together in the Secret Services under President Grant's direct orders…"

Blinking a few times Artie let out, "What? President Grant? You mean Ulysses S. Grant? The former Captain? He became the President? Him? But-but… how? And what about the war?"

Nodding Jim smiled. "The Union won the war."

Opening his eyes wide, stunned, Artemus croaked, "What? I missed the war?"

Jim shook his head. "No, you didn't. You participated actively in the war and in that victory, Artemus. You were a great officer, a great cavalry Captain and then you were a spy – the greatest of all - and you were rewarded by two Medals of Honor for your bravery, working under General Grant's direct orders. You were promoted to Major, and you are still are a Major, in the Secret Services."

Now astounded, Artie let out, "Grant became a General? I'm a Major in the Secret Services? Me? But what's the Secret Services?"

Jim smiled. "It's a long story."

Harry traced the scars left by the eagle and then Artemus's black tattoo, with a single fingertip. "Speaking about stories… You told Helena and me about what happened to you with that eagle and about getting a Comanche tattoo… but you didn't tell us the whole story."

Surprised again Artie asked, "A tattoo? What tattoo? I have an Indian tattoo?" Then he moaned with pain and rubbed his aching forehead.

Seeing that Artie was totally overwhelmed by too much information coming into his still fuzzy brain, Jim intervened. "Later, Harry. Focus on that gash which needs stitches."

Harry nodded. "You're right. Now, be still, Artemus, I need to stitch that gash of your Artemus. It's not going to be pleasant, so brace yourself."

Helena took her son's hand in hers. Artie smiled. "It's going to be okay…" but wasn't so sure when the doctor pierced his skin as he started the first stitch.

Gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain Artemus counted ten pricks of the needle; sweat beading on his face and neck as his eyes clench shut. "Is it over?" he asked.

The doctor shook his head. "Couple more," he said, tightening his grip on his restless patient. "There, almost finished… hold still, will you!" He made a knot and cut the protruding threads with scissors. "There, finished, all patched up!"

Rolling on his back Artemus noticed that the doctor's hair was all white. Then he looked at Paul Burke and the man had salt and pepper hair. He shook his head, still stunned. "I can't believe we're in 1874… the last thing I remember is leaving home to head to Galena… in 1861!"

Harry nodded. "Your amnesia is linked to your head injury. Once healed, you will recover your memory – intact. But it's going to take some time, and you will suffer from headaches, blurred vision, dizziness, bouts of nausea, high fever, sudden naps and even unconsciousness … but it will pass eventually."

Artie let out a pained chuckle. "You have a knack for reassurance, Harry."

The doctor moved toward the end of the bed and examined his patient's injured left ankle, swollen and colored with red and blue.

Glancing at his injured ankle Artie waved a dismissing hand. "It's nothing. I've had worse. I once broke a leg after falling off the roof of the barn when I was 14."

Jim was surprised. "The roof of the barn? What were you doing up there?"

Artie smiled broadly. "I had built a flying-machine and I tested it. It worked for a few minutes – I managed to fly in the air… until it crashed to the ground…"

Helena nodded. "I remember. Your father picked you up off the ground, passed out and bleeding from a wound to your head too."

Harry examined the injured ankle closely. "It looks like a bad sprain… I'm sorry but it's going to hurt a bit."

Artemus gritted his teeth, bracing himself. As soon as Harry probed and manipulated the injured ankle, he cried out in pain and arched off the bed, fists clenched tight. "Aaaah! Stop!"

Harry stopped and nodded. "It's a sprain, a bad one, but fortunately nothing's broken. You'll have to keep your foot elevated as much as you can to reduce the swelling. Keep your weight off that ankle for the next weeks, two at most, and no strenuous exercise. Don't try and walk on it unless you have to, to get to the bathroom for example. I'll provide you a pair of crutches as soon as possible. I'll take care of that sprained ankle it after you had a bath. You will clean all your abrasions and it will help you to relax, sonny."

Looking up at the older man Artie said, "Thank you, Harry." Then he looked at Jim with curiosity. "You and I are like brothers?"

Jim smiled. "Yes, since I met you at the siege of Petersburg in 1865, just before the end of the war. I was General Grant's aide de camp when I met you. In fact, the first time I saw you, I shot you and I almost killed you. It's a long story."

Artie blinked in total surprise. "What?"

Helena stroked her son's cheek lovingly. "I'm going to prepare you a warm bath, Artemus. Then Harry will take care of all your scratches and bruises and your sprained ankle." She moved towards Harry and he hugged her tenderly, kissing her forehead with love.

Artemus smiled. They made a lovely couple. He was happy that his mother was with Harry. The Doc had entered her mom's life and his, three years after his dad's tragic death and since then, they had lived happily together here in that house, he mused.

He rubbed a hand over his face and closed his eyes, far too tired to keep them open any longer. He was asleep a split second later.

WWW

 _Later, in the bathroom_

Opening his eyes, Artemus was surprised to notice that, one: he was lying in a large bathtub – and, two: Jim was sitting on a chair, beside him, holding a cup of coffee.

He glanced down at his naked body and his face flushed red with embarrassment. "Boy! I'm naked!" he said, trying to curl into a ball, hiding his private parts with his hands, "Leave! Get out! I'm not used to bathing with strangers. I mean with someone sitting beside me when I'm in a bathtub. I prefer privacy."

Smiling James shook his head. "No. Your mother asked me to keep an eye on you – to prevent you from drowning in your sleep," he just explained. Seeing that Artemus was very embarrassed he added, "It's not the first time I've seen you naked, you know. When we're on a mission, in the wilderness, we bathe and swim together – naked in waterholes, and you love taking a bath while discussing with me. You find it relaxing. We're comfortable with each other's bodies, buddy. We live together Artie, 365 days a year, like two brothers being roommates, in a beautiful train called the Wanderer. We use it to go wherever our assignments send us. We share everything; have no secrets from each other, Artie. None."

Lifting an eyebrow Artemus said, "Okay, I find this a bit odd, but I believe you. I heard you call me 'Artie' before… when you rescued me. Is that my nickname?"

Motioning the cup to his lips, Jim took a sip and nodded. "Yes, I called you like that after I shot you – I repeat, it's a long story."

Taking the cloth floating on top of the water Artemus said, "Artie. I like it – my mother never gave me a nickname. She always told me that my name 'Artemus' was so beautiful that there was no need to call me with a nickname. But I had one amongst my friends when I was a boy: _Magnus_. Magnus means "great" in Latin, and it was a Roman first name. They called me like that because I could do many things: play all the music instruments, read and speak Greek and Latin fluently, build things like bridges on the river and windmills… and too, because my first name sounds Roman."

Jim smiled. "Artemus Magnus, that suits you."

Artemus found the bar of soap at the bottom of the tub and started running it on his arms, covered with bruises and abrasions. "So you and I are close, like brothers?"

Smiling Jim nodded. "Yes, we are."

Stroking his arm with a soapy cloth Artie grinned. "I always wanted to have a younger brother… but I didn't have one. My mother had a miscarriage after the death of my father... it was such a shock for her... It was a boy. It was very hard, for her and for me… I don't want to think about it more." He lowered his head, blanching, sniffing, fighting tears back.

Frowning with questions Jim wondered what had happened to Artemus's father. Artie barely talked about his dad and his tragic death. It was a touchy subject, very sensitive. All he knew was that Angus Gordon had died in a tragic way when Artie was still a young man, and he had been deeply affected by his death. That was all he knew, he mused.

Smiling, wanting to cheer up his partner's dark mood, Jim said, "You have an eagle with its wings spread wide tattooed on your lower back," he said.

Artie nodded. "I knew I was tattooed but I didn't know it was an eagle. It's a good thing I'm not against tattoos… but why an eagle? Why here?"

Jim chuckled. "That's a long story. Red Crow, a Comanche Medicine Man, did that tattoo on your back. And you are an adopted Comanche by the way."

Blinking twice in surprise Artie said, "What? Me? A Comanche Medicine Man tattooed me?... What happened?" He suddenly jumped when someone knocked at the door. Helena, holding a pile of clothes and a large bath towel in her arms took a step inside.

The blush that had faded returned to full force on Artemus's cheeks and hurried to gather all the foam possible on top of his private area. Embarrassed beyond the definition, he said, his voice rising of a few octaves, "Mom! I'm naked!" Then, upset, he glared at her involuntarily.

Helena frowned a little affronted and pursed her lips. "Don't you give me that look young man! I raised you!" Then she calmed down of a sudden and chuckled. "You don't have anything I haven't seen before, Artemus. I just wanted to bring you this and tell you that lunch will be ready in thirty minutes. Don't be late – the two of you." She sat the pile of clothes on the table, smiled broadly to Jim, ruffling his hair in a motherly gesture, and then she left closing the door behind her.

Jim grinned. "Your mom loves me." Then he took another sip of coffee.

Relaxed to be 'alone' again with Jim, Artemus moved into a sitting position and began cleaning his bruised chest, gritting his teeth. "I know, and I'm glad too. You're the second son she never had."

Setting his empty cup of coffee on the floor, Jim picked up the bottle of homemade shampoo that was there beside the bathtub. He uncapped it and said, "Now, move under water!"

Complying Artie stayed a few seconds under water then emerged – to have Jim pour shampoo on his scalp liberally.

Running his fingers in his dripping hair Artie said, "I just can't believe that I forgot thirteen years of my life… by just hitting my head."

Taking a pitcher on the table, Jim moved towards Artie, frowning in concern. "It's not just a bump you have Artie, but a serious head injury. You heard Harry; the next weeks are not going to be fun. But fortunately, you'll recover." He plunged the pitcher into the soapy water then poured it on top of Artie's head, chasing the bubbles away. "I'm going to stay by you until you're okay. I will go to Old Creek today to send a telegram to Colonel Richmond in Washington – our superior and head of the Secret Services – to tell him everything. You'll have a medical leave for the duration of your recovery and I a simple one to play your nursemaid."

He poured a second pitcher of water on top of Artemus's head. "Ready to get out?" he asked then and Artemus nodded.

Slowly, gently, minding Artie's sprained and throbbing ankle, Jim hauled his companion up, then helped him to move out of the bathtub.

Dripping water on the bathmat, Artie asked, "Tell me about the Comanche…"

Jim maneuvered Artie to the chair after that and seeing that his best friend was beginning to fall asleep or losing consciousness, which he didn't know, he quickly toweled him dry, hair included. Then he helped the sluggish man to put his pajamas on. "Okay, Artie, time to go to bed."

Harry Clover entered the room just as Jim had buttoned his best friend's pajamas top. "Need some help Jim?" he asked.

WWW

 _Later, in Artemus's bedroom_

Artemus opened his eyes, smelling food – his mom's goulash precisely and he smiled broadly, seeing his mother sitting on the edge of the bed.

His stomach growled.

Helena was holding a tray containing a plate filled with his favorite recipe: goulash, and another one with some pounchkis (Polish doughnuts). There was a glass of red wine too and a piece of bread and of course, a knife, a fork and a big spoon.

He smiled, "Thank you, mom, I was hungry."

Helena chuckled. "You're always hungry, sick or injured." She watched him scoot up slightly against the headboard, bunching the pillows up under his shoulders, groaning and wincing. When he was finally in position sitting upright against the headboard, she settled the tray on her son's lap and said, "Eat plenty, my boy! You need your strength back."

Artemus looked at his tightly bandaged ankle and foot. They were propped up on several pillows piled on top of the bedspread. He winced. His ankle throbbed. "Harry took care of my ankle when I was out. I suppose I have to stay in bed?"

Helena nodded. "Yes, you were unconscious when Jim brought you here. You need to rest, Artemus. By the way, Jim left for Old Creek to send a telegram to Washington, and Paul left with him. He's going to try to find out who shot you."

Plunging his spoon in the goulash Artie nodded, "And almost killed me. I hope he'll find something. No, I'm sure he will. Paul is a remarkable sheriff."

Helena smiled. "You're safe here, Artemus. Jim will be back soon and he'll take care of you. He's a good man, I like him a lot."

Eating a spoonful of goulash Artie nodded and swallowed. "That's delicious, mom, it's just the way I like it. You're the best. Thank you," he said.

Helena brushed a hand across his forehead, smoothing sweaty hair out of his eyes. "I'm going to make fresh some coffee." She smiled, smoothed Artemus's hair back one more time, cringing. A row of stitches ran along his son's temple and a deep bruise was blossoming across his jaw line. She caressed his cheek gently, and he leaned into the touch like a cat, closing his eyes in pleasure. "I love you, sweetheart."

Artie beamed. "I love you too, mom," he said. He pressed his lips to his mother's forehead then watched her leave the room.

He smelled his mom's goulash, salivating.

Suddenly a black and white cat darted inside the room. It jumped on the bed and leaped with feline grace onto Artie's stomach.

It sniffed the human's face and touched its nose to his. Then it started rubbing its head against Artemus's jaw, purring loudly.

Artemus smiled. "Hi there! Paying me a visit?"

He scratched the cat behind the ears, in which the feline let out a purr of delight. "Yes, that's a good cat… you know me obviously, but I don't know you – correction, I don't remember you."

The animal arched its back, stretching and yawned, revealing a pink mouth full of pointy white teeth. The cat started kneading at the bedspread with its paws before finding a comfortable spot at Artie's feet, purring loudly again.

With his free hand, Artie stroked the cat behind his ears, eliciting more very happy purrs, and re-started eating the delicious goulash his mother had prepared for him.

WWW

 _Much later_

It was the middle of the afternoon when Jim came back to the Gordon's home, admiring (again) the lovely two story, red brick house nestled at the foothill of the Eagle Ridge forest, surrounded by immense green fields covered with poppies and cornflowers and lone, big old oaks. There was a river nearby with a small pebble beach and immense willow trees.

One could see an arm of the Galena Lake, just a few miles away, its calm surface reflecting the big azure sky of springtime.

He smiled contentedly. Everything was calm, peaceful…

He frowned – not so calm and peaceful. Someone, single, or someone, plural, had tried to kill Artie. He was lucky to be still alive, he mused.

He dismounted Blackjack, led the stallion to the stable and a few minutes later he headed toward the four-white-column-covered-porch in front of the house. Artie was there, still dressed in his pajamas and robe, a blanket on his legs. Crutches were leaning against a nearby Tuscan column.

He was barefoot and sitting on a rattan armchair, with his legs stretched out in front of him resting on a stool, propped up by two fluffy cushions.

He had an open book on his lap and held a cup of coffee. There was another rattan chair (empty) and a stool beside him with a pot of coffee and another cup on top.

Jim smiled. Artie was half-dozing, fighting to stay awake. He tapped on the older man's knee. "Feeling comfortable buddy?" he asked, taking place on the second armchair.

Artemus stirred at the sound of James's voice. After a few lethargic blinks, Artemus nodded limply. "Yes, I am. I was waiting for you, Jim. Harry gave me one of his homemade drugs because it hurts, everywhere, but my head especially… and I feel… good, relaxed, and sleepy." He chuckled softly. "I've tried to read a paragraph at least ten times… but after two lines, everything blurs… I have abandoned it. That drug's really good stuff." He took a sip of coffee and gestured weakly toward the pot and the spare cup. "Mom prepared coffee, help yourself." He yawned. "Did you send that telegram to… to Colonel Richmond?"

Pouring himself a cup of coffee Jim nodded. "Yes, like I told you, he put you a medical leave until you feel better and he put me on 'normal' leave, so that I can take care of you. There was a PS in the telegram, from President Grant. Apparently the two men were together when the telegram was sent to me…"

Blinking sleepiness away, Artie lifted an eyebrow. "Grant?... Ah, yes, the new President. What did he say in the telegram?" He drew a hand down his face wearily. "But not so new, I guess."

Resting his right foot next to Artemus's left one, and looking away at the arm of the blue lake shining in the distance, he said, "No. Grant was elected President in 1868, and re-elected in 1872. He's in the middle of his second term. The President will spend a few days in Galena in order to relax, and he's invited us – plus your mother and Harry, to dinner Saturday, that is tomorrow evening at 6:00. It's a great honor."

He heard a cup hit the tiled floor and looked at Artie.

He smiled.

His best friend was sleeping, breathing audibly, not quite snoring, head tipped onto one shoulder, fast asleep, his arms dangling on each side. His cup had fallen to the ground (and was miraculously still intact) and some coffee was poured on the gray stone of the porch. "Well… I'll tell you the good news later." He gulped the rest of his coffee and touched Artie's throat – finding his pulse strong and regular, his breathing okay – and feeling reassured, he headed inside.

He was hungry.

WWW

James West came back a few minutes later onto the porch, holding a plate covered with pieces of gingerbread with walnuts and raisins.

He smiled again, spotting a black cat with white legs curled up into a ball on Artemus's Gordon's lap, snuggling against his partner's chest and looking quite content. "Hey there, my furry friend," he said before reaching out a hand. "You made yourself a home on Artemus's lap."

The cat sniffed at it, brushing a small pink nose against James's palm, then head-butted it with a low purr. Jim scratched the feline on its head. "I love cats you know. But you already know that, otherwise you'd have scratched my hand and hissed at me," James said.

Looking at Jim with its green eyes, tail twitching, the cat meowed, stretched out its long, elegant legs and tail and extending his claws, pressing them into Artemus's thighs.

The older man jerked awake and groaned, his hand stroking automatically the cat's soft coat. "Bad cat…you woke me." He yawned, turned his head to the side and saw his partner standing beside him; eating a piece of cake. "Hiya Jim! I see that mom made her famous gingerbread… it's a Polish gingerbread called _Szybki piernik z bakaliami_. It's delicious."

His mouth full Jim nodded. "I confirm," he said, before swallowing. He offered a piece of gingerbread to his partner. Artie started to wolf it down.

Pointing at the cat, now purring under Artemus's caresses, right behind its pointy ears Jim asked, "What's his name?" He shoved in another bite.

Glancing at the cat which had moved on its back, paws parted – as an invitation to be stroked on its white-furred belly, Artie smiled and said, "It's a she, and her name is White Socks. She's my mother's cat. I know, it's not very original name… I love cats, and there have always been cats in this house since I was little. My first cat was a white fluffy cat called Snowball… not an original name again."

Jim nodded. "Before you took the shortest nap ever since I've known you, I was saying that the President will spend a few days in Galena in order to relax, and he's invited us – plus your mother and Harry, to dinner Saturday evening at 6:00."

Stroking the cat under its chin and eliciting new purrs, louder, Artie grinned, very pleased. "What a pleasant surprise! I'd be delighted to meet him!"

Jim shook his head. "Artie, you've known him for years, and the man has kind of adopted you during the war. And you love him like he was your own father… and that's odd. What about Harry? Do you love him like he was your own father too?"

Playing with White Socks's tail, Artemus let out a heavy sigh. "I love Harry, he was good to me after my mom and he decided to live together here. He's gentle and kind, he's open-handed, he's a good man. But he's not my father. My father died when I was a boy. He'd never replaced him in my heart and never will. As for Grant… I don't know him; I mean I don't remember him, so I can't tell. My mom never forgot my dad either, that's why she never wanted to marry Harry. She had only one husband and will have one only. Harry was okay with that." He smiled when the cat began licking his hand with her tiny, pink tongue. "You have a lot to tell me, Jim. I have a gap of thirteen years in my memory…"

Sitting back in an armchair Jim nodded. "Well, let's start with Captain Artemus Gordon, the man I almost killed at Petersburg and who was going to be my brother…"

Artie smiled. "I'm all ears."

The cat began giving his chest fur a few quick licks.

WWW

 _Later_

Two hours later, Artemus Gordon, knew everything.

He frowned angrily. "And I forgot all that! It's terrible! Harry told me it's a temporary amnesia… but if it's not? If it's permanent?"

He suddenly grimaced and grunted. His headache was back with a vengeance and killing him right now, and it was accompanied by a wave of nausea.

He needed to go to the bathroom before it was too late. He stood up, sweat breaking out on his brow and palms and grunted as his injured foot landed on the floor – frightening the cat.

The feline jumped to the ground with fluidity, meowing loudly its displeasure.

Artie moved on one foot, lifting the injured one, wincing. Swaying on one wobbly leg he breathed. "Ow! That hurts!" He whimpered in distress as it felt like the floor was shifting beneath his feet. A flash of cold ran over him and he was suddenly freezing again. His vision was getting foggy. His breath turned shaky and he began listing to one side, like a falling tree, losing his balance. "Jim! Help! I'm…".

He didn't finished what he was going to say.

He collapsed in Jim's arms and this time, clutching at his blue shirt and his stomach rolling, he retched on his best friend's lap.

He mercifully passed out.

Tbc.


	3. Act Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE OUTLAW**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT TWO**

 _Later in Artemus's bedroom_

Helena was very worried.

His son was deathly pale, with dark circles under his eyes and sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. He had been unconscious for hours now – and he was feverish, drenched in cold sweat. Artemus was shaken with spasms and shivers and his teeth were chattering and his breathing was ragged.

Harry shook his head, frowning in concern. "Artemus has a high fever… that's not good." He turned to the woman who shared his life for more than 30 years. "Helena, there's only one way to make his temperature go down: run a bath, but not cold, cooling his body that way will make the situation worse by causing shivering, which raises the core body temperature. It needs to be lukewarm. This temperature will feel plenty cool when you have a fever."

Helena nodded and she quickly left the room.

Harry looked at Jim, and said, "Try to wake him, he needs to drink a lot. I have to leave for a minute." Then he headed toward the door.

Jim already sitting on the edge of the bed shook his best friend's shoulder, gently. "Come on buddy, wake up! Wake up Artie!"

But Artemus remained unresponsive.

Harry came back shortly after, holding his big black bag and moved on the opposite side of the bed. He immediately pulled out his stethoscope from his bag and placed the disk on Artie's chest. "His heart's beating too fast…and it's shallow too. Infection must have set in…" He rapidly examined the stitched gash – it looked okay – and took a look at the head injury, finding the wound was weeping dark blood and pus and was inflamed. "The punctures made by the splinters got infected… I'm going to have to treat that later, the first thing to do is to cool him down as soon as possible to avoid possible seizures and brain and heart damage," he said as he removed the earpieces from his ears, letting the stethoscope dangle on his chest.

Shaking Artie again, Jim – wearing a new set of clothes - finally managed to rouse him. He tapped Artemus's face as the other man was opening his eyes. "Hey, sleepy head."

His eyes suddenly filled with tears Artemus looked at Jim through a thick gray veil and croaked through cracked lips, "Let me go…hurt me… I'm not... not going to tell you anything, Captain… you and your goons are wasting your time torturing me, Beaufort… "

Helping Artie into a sitting position, gently, Jim said, "You're safe Artie, no one is going to hurt you. I'm not that Captain Beaufort. It's me, Jim. Focus on me." But he noticed that Artemus's face had drained of all remaining color. He was staring at nothing – lost in painful moments of his past, during the war. He didn't hear him, he mused. Artie never talked about them, but had nightmares from time to time. It still hurt a lot. All he knew was that he had been captured a few times in enemy territory, tortured, and had managed to escape, avoiding being hung as a spy, and had survived, barely, each time, he mused.

James placed a soothing hand on his best friend's arm and Artemus recoiled, hands in the air. Then he pushed Jim away, growling threateningly.

Removing his hand, Jim said, softly, "Artie, calm down, I'm not going to hurt you…"

Tossing his head side-to-side, the very sick man mumbled, "Don't… I'm going to fight you… torture me, I won't tell anything, Beaufort…" and he pushed Jim back a second time. "Not going to tell you anything, any-thing." Beads of sweat were running down his flushed face. "Go to hell, Beaufort!"

Harry nodded. "He's hallucinating, it's the high fever."

He moved off the bed and he stumbled and collapsed onto the carpeted floorboard, holding his injured ankle. Jim immediately knelt beside him and tried to pull him up.

But Artie began struggling and kicking. "Let me go!" he repeated. He hit Jim with a force-less fist and crawled away from him.

Harry stopped Artemus at the end of the bed, pinning him down, sitting astride his legs, which made Artie struggle more. "Settle down Artemus! Down, son!"

Jim managed to haul Artie up and propped him against the side of the bed, keeping his wrists in a firm grip. "Artie, calm down, please…"

Artie nodded and Jim released him.

Artemus's eyes suddenly filled with tears and he dropped his head. "I want to go home, please. I want to see my mom…" he whispered, shivering, sounding like a lost scared boy. He covered his face with his hands, tears streaming from beneath them.

Jim cupped a hand under Artie's jaw, turning the older man to face him. "Don't worry; I'm going to bring you back home, to your mom." Then he took his partner in his arms and could feel the heat rising off of him. "Sshh, it's going to be alright."

Resting his head on James's shoulder, Artemus closed his eyes and he went limp as he finally gave in to sleep.

WWW

 _Later in the bathroom_

Artie woke up with a gasp and a jerk in the bathtub, shivering uncontrollably. "Water's cold," he said, struggling upright, trying to move out of the bathtub. But Jim's firm hand on his shoulder prevented it.

Harry, sitting on a stool next to the tub, shook his head, "The water's lukewarm, Artemus, not cold, but you have a high fever. You're too hot, that's why you think the water's cold, but it's not," he said, sponging the other man's flushed face.

His eyes glassy, bloodshot and unfocused, Artemus mumbled something unintelligible, grabbed Jim's arm trying to push himself out, but he was far too weak and he whined, "It's cold, it's cold." A sudden shudder rippled through him and he gasped. He rested his head against the edge of the tub, staring at the ceiling, dazed. "Mom?" he called.

Harry shook his head. "No, it's Harry. Helena's not here, she's changing your bed, Artemus." Everything is going to be alright, son." then he sponged his chest and armpits – a high-heat areas – with cool water in order to help reduce his temperature as the water evaporated.

Artemus lifted a limp hand and stroked Harry's arm, "Mom… you have to help me… I'm a prisoner, they-they have tortured me… there's blood everywhere… I'm going to die… I'm going to be hanged at dawn…At least I won't die like dad… it will be rapid and almost painless… He's going to scold at me… I promised… promised him to die at a very old age… Tell the General… tell him that it was an honor and pri… pri… vilege to… "His eyes fluttered closed, his head lolled to the side and he fell asleep.

Harry nodded. "He remembered things that happened to him during the war, when he had been captured and tortured by the Confederates. His memory is back."

Shaking his head Jim stroked his thumb on Artie's intact temple with brotherly affection. "I would be less optimistic. I think bits of souvenirs are coming up to the surface, but that's all." He touched his forehead, a little less feverish. "I think the fever is breaking…"

Harry quickly examined his patient and arrived at the same conclusion: "You're right. Let's bring him back to his bed."

WWW

 _Later, at night_

But Artemus's fever spiked after the doctor took care of his infected head injury. Harry had to shave a good part of his patient's hair to have access to the skull, had successfully removed any trace of infection, stitched everything that needed stitches and wrapped Artie's head in a bandage.

Artie spent hours lying on bed, eyes glazed and not focusing on anything in particular in the room. Not talking, or curled under the covers, shivering as he muttered quietly to himself. Then he fell asleep, lying on his side, head buried in the pillow with an unhealthy flush still on his face.

Deeply worried about Artemus, James decided to share his partner's bed. He might as well keep an eye on him all night long.

Still feverish Artie had sunk into an agitated sleep disturbed by twitches of his arms and legs, mumbling words from time to time.

He tossed and turned, alternately freezing and boiling.

Dressed in his pajamas, Jim ran his fingers in firm, steady circles through his companion's sweat-tangled hair, soothing him, knowing it had a calming effect and Artie calmed down after a moment. "You're going to be okay Artie," he said. "You're going to be okay."

He took a book in a bookshelf randomly, and then he moved on top of the bedspread. He unfolded the blanket sitting at the end of the bed pulled it over his legs. He propped a pillow in his back and finally leant against the headboard.

He glanced at Artie's bandage; it was white. There was no trace of blood. The stitches were holding, he mused, sighing in relief, and continued his reflection: Artie will be mad to see that a good part of his dark locks was gone. He loved his hair. But Harry didn't have any other choice.

He took the other man's clammy hand in his and said, "I'll watch over you, buddy. You sleep, I'll stay awake. It's going to be a long, long night."

He opened the book, fortunately a good one, Richard III from Shakespeare, and started to read. But after a moment, very tired, he began dozing fitfully, checking on Artemus each time he woke.

He succumbed to sleep two hours later – when Artemus opened his eyes, drenched in sweat, lost in a haze, in desperate need of freshness to cool him down.

'Cold water is perfect! Go to the lake, Artemus. Let's take a swim there', he mused as he struggled upright and out of the bed.

He grabbed his crutches from where they were leaning by the bedside table, not noticing Jim's presence in his bed, and with the help of his crutches he hobbled out from his bedroom.

WWW

 _Later_

It was the middle of the night when Jim's bladder, insisting on being emptied, woke him, and he blearily moved into a sitting position in the bed… and gasped in surprise when he saw that he was alone.

Artemus was gone.

Wide awake in a flash, he jumped off the bed and started searching, everywhere or almost, growing increasingly concerned. Artemus wasn't in the house. Maybe he had needed fresh air and went outside, on the porch, he mused beginning to feel awfully worried.

But the porch was empty – and it was pouring down heavily outside.

It was full moon and thanks to the silver light of the satellite he noticed that the door of the stable was opened, and he ran there.

He was soaked through his clothes before he reached the door.

Sometimes, when Artie couldn't sleep – because of the full moon, like tonight – he came to Chestnut's stall with a cup of coffee and talked to him before spending hours pampering his beloved horse, offering him treats, he reflected, hoping to find his best friend inside, taking care of Chestnut.

But Artemus wasn't inside – nor was Chestnut. The two were gone – and the buggy wasn't there anymore. Artie had hitched his horse to the buggy and left.

He cursed under his breath. "Where did you go buddy? In the middle of the night?" He looked at the rain soaked ground and immediately spotted the traces left by the wheels of the buggy. "But I'm going to find you!" and he ran toward the house.

WWW

 _In the meantime, somewhere close to the Galena Lake_

Hearing a sound – the sound of rustling leaves, John Coyote knew that someone was coming through the bushes hiding the entrance of the cave – and he took his gun.

He jumped towards the wall, standing in the shadow, cocked the hammer of his Colt and waited.

He didn't have to wait long – a man, dressed in his short underwear and nothing else, with his head bandaged, and walking with the aid of crutches, headed toward the small fire.

The outlaw moved silently behind the other man, an eyebrow lifted in puzzlement. He noticed first the scars crisscrossing his back, telltales of multiple injuries and mostly torture, then the Indian black eagle tattooed there on the pale skin. He placed the mouth of his gun behind the intruder's shoulder blades. "Raise your hands, now!" he commanded. "Well, just one hand!"

Lifting his left hand, Artie pivoted… and the two men both gasped in total surprise and they both took a step back, eyes wide.

Coyote breathed, "Artemus Gordon?"

Gordon let out, "John Forbes? Huh?" And then his knees buckled under him and he collapsed - passed out in the outlaw's arms.

Lowering Artie to the ground, John Forbes/Coyote touched the other man's throat and found his pulse… and noticed that he was burning up.

The outlaw re-holstered his gun, gently lifted Artemus in his arms and carried him to his bedroll and covered him with his blanket. Then he rushed outside to see if the other man was alone.

He saw a horse and a buggy outside – and no one. Everything was quiet and there was no noise except for the howling of an owl.

Reassured, John came back inside the cave and crouched beside the man he hadn't seen in 13 years. Artemus looked pale and exhausted under the sheen of sweat, and of course he was older - and broader. Gone was the Magnus he knew, a slender man finely muscled; he was now broader with stocky shoulders and thickset arms to go along with him. He had strong legs too. He had changed a lot, he thought. He nodded, "You, too, changed physically… and you're not the man you used to be in your head, too: shy, introverted and who couldn't hurt a single fly! The war changed you, hardened you," he said. He shook his head, continuing his musing: no, John was a redoubtable outlaw now, had killed many people and recently two Marshalls and three federal agents closing on him.

He cupped Artie's face and gently tapped it. "Come on Magnus, wake up! What are you doing here in your condition?"

Moaning low in his throat, Artie opened his eyes slowly. Eyes unfocused, he whispered, "Co-co-cold… want to go home…thirsty…"

Frowning in concern John realized that the other man was feverish and dehydrated. He placed a soothing hand on Artemus's face, "It's okay, stay here, I'm going to give you water…" and he headed toward his horse standing a little farther away in the cave. Holding his canteen, he knelt beside Artemus and brought the neck to Artie's lips. "Here drink, take small sips, okay?"

Blinking Artie took a small sip and his eyes focused for a moment, glittering with fever. "John? Is that you?" he rasped.

The outlaw nodded. "Yes, it's me, long time no see, Artemus Magnus. What are you doing here, half naked and hurt?"

Blinking tiredness away Artie breathed, "I was hot… needed cold water to cool off… I went to the lake… I wanted to swim a little… and ended here, in our secret place… "He took another sip, and another one. "What you're doing here?"

Forbes/Coyote smiled. "Well, I was heading home, when the night surprised me on my way, so I went here. There's no hotel in the area. And it was good to be back here; I have a lot of memories of playing here, with you and the others…"

Puzzled and still shivering Artie frowned and said, "What? That's odd because you came here just once… and you didn't like it; that place scared you. You left and went back home. And your parents died before you enroll in the Army and you have no family here. Why did you come back here John?" He rubbed his arms to warm himself up, his teeth chattering.

Forbes/Coyote chuckled. "You sound like a lawman, Artemus." Suddenly suspicious, his eyebrows knitted and he asked, very serious. "Are you a lawman?" He pulled the other man upright, leaning him against the rocky wall of the cave. "Answer me." Sagging forward Artie closed his eyes, falling asleep. Forbes/Coyote groaned, upset and pushed Artie back, propping him up. "Tell me Magnus! Are you a lawman?"

His eyes fluttering open, Artemus mumbled, "Kinda… I'm in the Secret Services… Working directly for the President… my duty is to investigate all crime under federal jurisdiction too, from murder to bank robbery to illegal gambling…"

Forbes/Coyote flinched and cursed under his breath and stood. Artemus, too weak to stay upright, slid to the side and closed his eyes again.

The outlaw took two steps back, landing his hand on the butt of his gun. His first reaction was to shoot the Federal agent.

But it was Artemus Magnus Gordon – and Artie had always treated him with kindness, like a friend, always trying to involve him in their diverse games, contrary to the others, Paul, Lyle, Frank, etc., who ignored him, treated him like someone bizarre, weird.

He couldn't shoot him – but couldn't let him live either. If he let Artemus go, he'll talk to the others, telling he had saw him here, to Paul for example, and Paul, he knew, was the sheriff of Old Creek.

The outlaw headed toward his horse and fished two sticks of dynamite from his left saddlebag. He slid them into his belt and took the reins of his horse.

Looking down at a sleeping Artemus, Forbes/Coyote said, genuinely sorry, "I'm sorry Magnus, but I don't want to end up being hanged. I don't have any other choice."

Once outside the cave, he scratched a match against the trunk of a tree and lit the two sticks of dynamite before throwing them inside the cave. He jumped on his horse in a flash and hit his gelding's flanks, motioning his mount into gallop.

Shortly after there was a huge explosion.

WWW

 _At the same time_

Mounting Blackjack, Jim West was following the traces left by the wheels the buggy along the lake in the thick grass, when there was a huge explosion.

Blackjack reared and Jim saw a big cloud of smoke and dust rise in the air above the treetops. He immediately blanched. "Artie!"

Deep in his guts he knew that Artemus was in grave danger.

Galloping at top speed, the stallion reached the site of the explosion in a matter of minutes. Jim spotted a little farther a nervous Chestnut tied to a tree, the buggy behind him, and slid off his horse. He rushed toward the landside, avoiding rolling stones.

He moved forward – toward what was left of the entrance of a cave and now a pile of rocks. "Artemus!" he cried out. "Artemus!"

No response. He gritted his teeth, refusing to panic, which was useless. He decided to explore all around the place to see if there was another way to go inside that cave. He took his rope and headed to the left, between the huge oak trees.

Fortunately it was full moon and the night wasn't dark.

He searched for hours, terribly worried for his friend he knew was trapped inside the cave, finding anything but tiny holes and small crevices.

It was dawn when he finally spotted a hole in the rock, large enough for him to go through. But his enthusiasm faltered as he didn't have anything to bring into the cave to light it. He couldn't find Artemus in pitch blackness. Helpless, he was heading back toward the place where Blackjack and Chestnut were waiting, when he spotted lights – torches - through the mass of trees. "Help! Help!" he cried out. Shortly after Paul Burke and his two deputies joined him. He grinned. "I'm so happy to see you!" he frowned, intrigued. "What are you doing here by the way?"

Burke looked around him. "Ollie, my deputy Darrel's brother heard two bounty hunters talk about John Coyote, the outlaw, in a saloon of Clinton. They were searching for John Coyote in the surrounding area two days ago but didn't find him… My deputies and I were patrolling when we heard that explosion and saw the cloud of smoke…" He frowned puzzled. "We saw Chestnut and the buggy, plus your black stallion down there on the road, what the hell is happening here?"

Jim sighed. "Artie left the house in the middle of the night when I was sleeping. He came here for whatever reason and he's trapped inside that cave. Someone dynamited the entrance to kill him – I hope he's still alive. I need your torch."

Burke was stunned. "You sure he's inside?"

Looking down at the hole in the rock again Jim nodded. "I'm sure, believe me. He's been caught up in the collapse and he's trapped down here, I can feel it deep in my core."

Burke offered Jim his torch and took the one Darrel was holding. "I'm coming with you; I know that cave like the back of my hand."

Jim was surprised. "Really?"

The sheriff nodded. "Yes, it was our secret place to Artie, Lyle, I, and the others when we were kids… we spent many hours playing here, then after we grew up, we brought our dates here… Why do you think Artemus came here?"

Tying the rope to the trunk of a tree Jim shook his head. "I don't know, he's very sick, feverish… maybe he thought he was 10 again."

He dropped the torch into the hole then did the same thing with the other extremity of the rope. He slowly lowered him into darkness.

WWW

 _Later, in the cave_

Dust was still billowing in the front part of the cave, of what was left of it, when the two men holding torches entered there.

It was darkness around them, oppressing. The air thick with dust was barely breathable.

Taking prudent steps forward, Jim called, "Artie!' He paused. Nothing. He called again. "Artie? Artie?" and swallowed hard, fearing to find the lifeless body of his partner. The coldness in the pit of his stomach grew. "God, please… be alive." He glanced at the sheriff moving on his right. "Anything?"

Burke shook his head. "No, not yet. Let's split us to cover more ground."

They did just that.

It was Paul who saw Artie first, lying on his side against the left wall, curled up, almost buried under a thick layer of pieces of rocks and dust. "Here, Jim, I've found him!"

They shoved the rubble and dust away, uncovering Artemus quickly and carefully.

Once the older man was freed, Jim took his pulse at the base of his throat. He sighed in relief. "He's still breathing, thank God! And he looks fine…I mean, not hurt more than he is already." He gently rolled his best friend on his back, avoiding the debris covering the ground. "Artie! Come on, wake up buddy!"

Burke touched the older agent's forehead. "He's still a bit feverish…"

Copying the sheriff Jim said, "His fever is breaking that's good news. " He shook his companion's arm hoping to see him open his eyes. "Artie!"

Groaning Artemus finally opened his eyes, trying to focus on the shape in front of him. His vision became clearer and he recognized his partner. "Hiya, Jim! Mmpff… I'm not deaf, you know," he croaked. "Ow! My whole body hurts… What happened?"

Burke smiled. "Good to have you back Artemus. You tell us."

Wrapping one arm around Artemus's torso, Jim maneuvered his partner into a sitting position, gently, as if he was going to break like glass. Jim asked, "Who blew up the cave?"

Artie rubbed his puffy eyes. "I was with John… John Forbes. Did you find him?"

Burke shook his head. "He's not here, he's gone. I saw traces of hoof prints heading away from the entrance of the cave. He had brought his horse inside. There was rubble on top of a few of them – meaning that the explosion occurred after he left."

Jim nodded. "And as explosions don't happen like magic, it means that John Forbes used dynamite to destroy the cave. He wanted to kill you, Artie." He frowned. "Wait a minute, John Forbes is…"

Burke nodded. "Is the boy who followed us everywhere, but stayed away. I told you about him, Jim. Well, he's back home and he's a bad guy."

Frowning, perplexed, Artie ran a hand in his dust-covered hair. "He tried to kill me? Why? It's the first time I met him in thirteen years. But… wait! I remember something. He asked me if I was a lawman, and he insisted. He really wanted to know if I was one, and I told him I was working for the Secret Services… I don't remember what happened after that. I probably fell asleep or I passed out."

The sheriff nodded. "It sounds like John Forbes tried to kill you because you're a lawman, Artemus. We can conclude that he's probably an outlaw."

The older agent nodded somberly. "Everything leads me to believe this too. People change…"

Paul smiled. "Some people change; you didn't Artemus, and I didn't. Come on, your mother and Harry must be very concerned about you."

Coughing, Artie nodded and shivered. He was feverish but could feel cold all the way to his bones. "That's the understatement: of the year," he said. He blinked up at Jim weakly, as he was having trouble focusing. "I'd like to come home now. M' cold."

WWW

 _Later in Artemus's bedroom_

Helena Gordon sat on the edge of the bed, watching her beloved son – clean (after a one-hour bath), dressed in new pajamas, his injured foot and ankle newly bandaged, as well as his head - sleeping soundly. White Socks, sitting on her haunches, was lazily cleaning her paw beside him.

She touched his forehead and was relieved to find that the fever – and the infection - were gone – definitively, and said, "He's alright."

Harry standing behind her nodded. "Yes, he is. He just needs to rest to regain his strength. He should be able to use his injured foot in a couple of weeks."

Helena stroked Artie's stubbled cheek, tears rolling on her face. "I can't believe what Paul said, that John Forbes tried to kill my boy. He was a good man when he left with Paul and Artemus to go to Galena, to enroll in the Army. Now he's an outlaw, a thief and a murderer."

Harry put his hand on Helena's shoulder and pressed it lightly, soothingly. "Paul and his deputies are searching for him. They'll arrest him; he's the best sheriff of the county."

He petted White Socks behind her ears. The cat started to purr, then when Harry moved away, it resumed its grooming.

Tbc.


	4. Act Three

**THE NIGHT OF THE OUTLAW**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT THREE**

 _The next afternoon_

His eyes half-opened Artemus entered the kitchen dressed in his robe, barefoot, hair wild, followed by a meowing, hungry cat slaloming between his legs and crutches, tail raised high, curling around his calf and swinging above its back.

He, too, needed to eat something. He looked at the wall clock: 2:35. Breakfast time had passed, and lunch too. Dinner would be in only a few hours.

He spotted a pot of coffee on the stove, smelling good, a pot of milk on the table and a plate with a piece of spongy cake.

Artie smiled. His mom had thought about him, he mused. "Thanks, mom," he said.

Leaning on one crutch, he took the pot of coffee waiting on the large stove, a cup in the cupboard and poured the black, bitter beverage in it.

He lowered his eyes watching White Socks winding herself around his ankles repeatedly, mewing, demanding, and said, "There are a lot of big mice outside you know…"

The cat looked up at Artie, meowing impatiently as its tail flicked back and forth.

Artie filled a dish with water and settled it on the floor. White Socks took a couple of quick laps, not really interested in the water, then re-started her demanding, rumbly meows.

He took the pot of milk sitting on the table and a saucer and poured a little milk inside. White Socks immediately leaped on the table and lapped up the milk, making small slurping sounds.

Eyes closed, reveling in an almost-silence, leaning against the wall, Artemus took his time to drink his coffee – refilling the saucer with milk for the cat. Then, he poured milk in his empty cup and drank it before devouring the piece of cake hungrily.

Then, feeling better, using his crutches to support his weight, he headed toward the porch. He found Jim there, sitting in an armchair reading the local newspaper. "Hiya Jim," he said weakly, before taking his place gingerly in another armchair.

Lowering the Springfield Tribune, Jim raised his eyes towards a disheveled and weary Artemus. "Hi Artie, I was beginning to think you had decided to hibernate – Strong Bear." Then he chuckled.

Smiling, Artemus maneuvered his injured foot onto the stool and the two cushions and asked, "Where are my mother and Harry?"

Folding the newspaper Jim said, "Harry left early this morning, Artie, he had patients in town and in Galena too, and your mother took the buggy two hours ago to go in town too, to do some shopping and to see Mrs. Walker, the mayor's wife. She'll come back before night, she told me. She left you in my hands."

James smiled when White Socks jumped onto Artemus's lap, flopped onto her side, and showed the human her belly, paws dangling limply in the air. He obeyed her command with pleasure and began running circles on the furred belly. The cat closed its eyes in bliss and purred.

Suddenly a rider appeared at the end of the path leading to the road.

Paul Burke dismounted his horse shortly after, pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket of his jacket and joined the two agents on the porch.

He plopped himself into an armchair and showed them the wanted notice of John Coyote – 10,000 dollars reward, dead or alive. "Do you know that face?" he asked Artie.

Stunned, Artemus nodded. "Yes, it's John Forbes… alias John Coyote. What did he do? There's a long list of his crimes written under his portrait."

Jim was surprised. "He looks a little like you, Artie."

Artie nodded. "I know, strangers seeing us together often took us for brothers when we were boys…" He snapped his fingers. "That's it! I know who shot me – a bounty hunter! He took me for Coyote and abandoned me when he saw I wasn't he."

The cat left Artie's lap to rub itself against the sheriff's leg, curling its tail around his calf.

Burke ignored the animal and nodded. "You're probably right. I'll make an investigation on that later; for now my priority is to stop that man." Burke gave the wanted notice to Artemus. "When I knew what John Forbes did to you, last night, I suddenly remembered this morning, that another _John_ was in the area, in the words of bounty hunters, and they are not wrong in general. A man called John Coyote. I had the intuition that both Johns were, in fact, one and the same person. I sent a telegram to the Marshall of Galena to have a wanted notice of that John Coyote and I sent Ollie to fetch it. He gave it to me one hour ago."

Quickly petting the cat now rubbing itself against his legs, Jim nodded. "You're intuition was right. 10,000 dollars! What did he do?"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Artemus said, "He was such a shy and introverted boy – and a nice and gentle man before the war…" He sighed. "That's too bad. Let's see, he has attacked a dozen banks, killing people, he has attacked stagecoaches, killing people too; he has stolen horses and cattle and killed people; and he has murdered two marshalls and three federal agents…" He shook his head again, appalled. "John Forbes has really turned bad…"

Burke nodded. "He almost killed a Secret Services agent too."

White Socks was disappointed with the lack of attention she was getting and jumped on Artemus's fragile leg. Artie winced. He picked up the black and white feline by the middle and settled it on his lap. White Socks immediately curled in a ball there, purring. "Almost yes, but he didn't, thanks to my partner – who always knows when I'm in danger, and it works both ways. I always know when he's in danger too." And he smiled broadly at Jim.

Standing, Paul Burke petted White Socks for a few seconds on top of her head, then under her chin, eliciting a loud, contented purr. The feline rolled over so he could pet its belly – again - which he did, more than happy to indulge the cat in its demand. The purring grew in volume. Then he said, "I have to go. I'm going to find him. I don't know why he came back here, but it's not going to bring him luck. See you later." Then he headed toward his horse.

Petting the cat in his turn, Artemus, like Jim, watched the sheriff go away, heading back to the dusty road and said, "It's too bad I can't go with him. But after my little escapade along the lake and into the forest, pain has increased, and I can't even put the foot on the ground. And Harry – as my doctor – has forbidden me to leave the house – and mom backed him. At least, my fever's gone." He rubbed his intact temple. "But I still haven't recovered my memory. I'm still amnesiac."

MRREOW! The cat let out, upset, and Artemus re-started petting White Socks behind her small pointed ears and she instantly began to purr loudly again.

Jim smirked. "She trained you well. You're responding to her every whim and demand."

Placing his other foot on the cushions Artie chuckled. 'It's well-known that cats don't have owners, they _own_ people."

Standing Jim said, "I'm going to fetch a cup of coffee in the kitchen, do you want one?"

Smiling Artie nodded. "Yes, thanks, and bring something to eat. My mom has a box full of cookies in the kitchen, somewhere…"

Leaning down to pick up the feline, Jim smiled when White Socks instantly purred in his arms. "She loves me", he said.

Artemus nodded. "Of course, she's a she."

WWW

 _Later_

Five minutes later Jim came back on the porch, holding two cups of coffee and a tin box filled with almond cookies. "I found them Artemus…" he said and froze on the spot.

Standing beside a column John Forbes alias John Coyote was pointing his gun at Artemus – and Jim frowned in concern when he noticed a trickle of blood running down Artie's cheek. His partner's eyes were closed and his chin rested on his chest.

He had been hit on his head.

Jim's blood ran cold. "If you have killed him…" he threatened.

Fornes/Coyote shook his head. "He's just knocked out – but he'll have a nasty bump on top of his head." Pointing his revolver at Jim he added, "Put all that down, slowly." Then he pushed White Socks to the floor and the feline, let out hiss. The cat flattened its ears and hissed at the outlaw with bared fangs before swiping a paw at him. Then White Socks padded out of the porch quickly.

Sitting the cups of coffee and the box of cookies on the floor Jim asked, "What are you doing here? Want to finish the job?"

The outlaw smiled. "You mean kill Magnus? No. I need him as a hostage." He cupped Artie's slack face. "I was surprised to see that he was still alive." He took a step sideway. "He should be dead, buried in that cave under tons of rocks… What happened?"

Moving to an armchair Jim answered, "I found him and Paul Burke and I brought him out."

Leaning against a column, the outlaw looked at Jim from head to toes, "You're not afraid, you're cool, you look dangerous… let me guess, you're Artemus's partner?"

Glancing again at Artie still passed out, James West nodded. "Yes I am. And I'm not going to let you hurt him again," he said coldly.

Forbes/Coyote cocked the hammer of his Colt. "Try something and I shoot you where you stand. I have killed dozens of people – and recently three Federals who had cornered me in a barn not far from Saint Louis… I'm not going to hesitate to kill a fourth one. Sit!"

Complying, Jim asked, "What do you want?"

Forbes/Coyote looked briefly at Artemus . "I saw his scars, on his back. What happened?"

Looking at his best friend, still unconscious Jim shook his head. "I don't know what happened. I just know that it happened during the war… he was tortured by Confederates soldiers. He doesn't want to talk about it and I understand."

Forbes/Coyote nodded. "We tried to stay in contact during the war. I sent him letters… but when he stopped sending me letters back, I thought, that's it. He's dead. You can imagine my surprise when I saw him in that cave, thirteen years later, alive!"

Jim nodded too. "He stopped having contact with people – except with General Grant – when he became a spy. It's probably why he stopped sending you letters."

Looking down at Artemus briefly again the outlaw nodded. "That explains his scars… Spies were tortured to give information then hanged. He escaped or was rescued…" Turning his eyes toward Jim he said, "I want you to go Galena in my place. I bet Paul alerted each town in the region that I was here, somewhere, and Galena, like all the towns in the region, is certainly loaded with lawmen searching for me. They won't bother you – Mr. Federal agent… by the way, what's your name?"

Jim said, "James West."

Forbes/Coyote continued, "Well, Mr. West, once in Galena you'll go to the Blue Lake Hotel, room 12. There's a bag hidden under the floorboard, under the bed. I want you to bring that bag to me. Then, I will leave – and I promise I'll let you live." He smiled. "I wouldn't waste time if I were you, otherwise I may have other hostages: old Harry and Mrs. Gordon." He waved his finger. "But don't tell anything to anyone – if I see any lawman come here, I will shoot Magnus and perhaps the Doc and Mrs. Gordon too, if they have arrived in the meantime. I'm sure that you don't want to have their deaths on your conscious… now go!"

Jim stood and took a step forward toward the stairs and stopped – he glanced at Artie who was moaning, slowly coming around. "Don't hurt him."

The outlaw grinned like a crocodile. "It should take you less than an hour each way, plus half an hour in the town. Now go!... before I start playing with Magnus here…"

Jim ran at top speed toward the stable.

WWW

 _Galena, later_

Entering the town limit at top speed, Blackjack galloping – Jim West was suddenly stopped by a group of soldiers commanded by a Captain. They pointed their rifles at him.

He halted his horse and dismounted. "I have to go to the Blue Lake hotel, Captain!" he said to the officer, heading toward him.

The other man shook his head. "It's impossible Sir. Only the persons who have been authorized to be here in Galena can enter the town. Do you have an authorization, Sir?"

Sighing Jim pulled out his ID card from the inside pocket of his vest. "My name's James West, I'm a Secret Services agent, working directly under the President's orders. Now let me pass."

The Captain took the ID card, examined it then gave it back to the agent. "The President is in the Blue Lake hotel, Mr. West, talking to the Mayor and the population of Galena." Then he gestured towards the soldiers. "Let him go." The soldiers lowered their rifles and parted.

Mounting his stallion, Jim kicked Blackjack into a gallop again, remembering that Saturday was today! Grant was here. He had invited Harry, Mrs. Gordon, Artie and he to dinner at 6:00.

He slid off his horse in front of the hotel and showed his ID card to the soldiers posted there. They stepped aside.

He was in the hall, ready to climb the stairs, heading towards the first story, room 12, when he heard Grant's baritone voice and pivoted.

Grant was saying: "Jim! It's good to see you!"

Standing automatically at attention Jim smiled. "It's good to see you too, Mr. President. I'd like to stay, Sir, but I have something very important to do…" He cringed when he saw Mrs. Gordon join the President. She was very surprised to see him here. He sighed, "It's about Artemus…"

Helena blanched. "Dear God! Is he sick again?"

Jim shook his head. "No Helena."

Grant frowned in concern. "Mrs. Gordon told me what happened to Artemus." He gestured towards the bar. "Let's discuss it in there."

Embarrassed Jim shook his head. "Sir, I'm really sorry, but I don't have much time…"

President Ulysses S. Grant's eyebrows knitted. "That's a direct order, Mr. West. I want to know everything. Lead the way."

Jim had no other choice by to obey. "Yes, Sir!"

WWW

 _Later, at the Gordon's house_

That hit on his head – that new hit on his head - had started a new spike of fever. Artemus was again very sick and feeling utterly weak.

Gathering his meager forces, he tried to pull at the ropes securing him to the armchair – but they were too tight – and he stopped, out of breath.

He glared at Forbes sitting beside him in another armchair. "Tell me what happened. Tell me how you become the man you are John."

Forbes/Coyote took a sip of coffee. "Oh, that's simple. I killed many people during the war – at first, I didn't like it, but I did it because they were enemies, and because I had to survive. Then, after a few battles, I began to like it and I killed many soldiers, a few Gray officers even. I was promoted to sergeant. After the war, all I knew was to kill people, different ways. I worked in ranches here and there as a cowboy, but it wasn't my thing. I was poor and I wanted money to buy a saloon at home. One day I witnessed a hold-up in a bank in a small town in Texas. Five persons were killed, the sheriff included, and the two men left with a lot of money – enough to live comfortably for a while. And it gave me an idea: I was going to be an outlaw. I would quickly have a lot of money and without a lot of efforts – just kill people and rob the money. It worked. I attacked stagecoaches and banks; that was easy and I robbed a lot of money. I came back here about six months ago and hid a bag filled with money in the Blue Lake Hotel in Galena – to buy the saloon there after I'd gotten enough money. I retired two weeks ago and came back, but two bounty hunters followed me here on my way back, showing people the reward notice…"

Sweating profusely Artie nodded. "And everything went downhill… it was a question of time before the lawmen start searching for you too. You couldn't stay here, in the region. You couldn't buy that saloon anymore, you couldn't be a respectable man." He paused feeling dizzy. "You have to flee now, but not without your money hidden in the Blue Lake Hotel. That's why you send Jim to the Blue Lake Hotel."

Forbes/Coyote nodded. "Exactly." He took a second sip of coffee. "What about you? your partner told me that you were a spy during the war…"

His vision blurring Artemus nodded. "Yes, I was." He grimaced as his headache was throbbing. "I'm not feeling well…"

The outlaw touched Artie's brow, cringing at the furnace heat of his skin, and the other man's face was flushed with fever. "You don't look great Magnus – like in the cave."

Fighting welling bile in the back of his throat Artemus tipped his head back and closed his eyes and clenched his jaws.

They both heard a rider coming, galloping in the alley.

Forbes/Coyote looked at the man. He was short, round-shouldered, dressed in black clothes and a black hat was drawn over his face. When he dismounted, the outlaw saw that he had a neatly trimmed beard and striking blue eyes… and a cigar clenched between his teeth.

He gasped and blinked twice, stunned, recognizing the other man. "What?"

Ulysses S. Grant dismounted his horse and headed toward the porch. He climbed the stairs and stopped in front of the outlaw.

He calmly puffed on his cigar, and commanded, "Lower that gun."

Forbes/Coyote pointed his gun at the President. "With all due respect, Sir, Mr. President. What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

Impassible Grant ignored the gun almost poking his belly and looked down at Artemus. "I came here to see how Artemus is doing." He noticed dried blood on the side of Artie's face. "I bet he was feeling better before you hit him hard on his head," he said, upset.

Moaning Artemus looked at the President through a gray veil. "Sir… go away… dangerous… can't protect you…" he grunted. His head felt as if it was going to split in two, and his entire body ached – and his joints especially - from the heat.

He tried to free himself again but he couldn't. He just didn't have the energy. his head was dipping and heavy, like it weighed tons.

Forbes/Coyote nodded. "He's right you know? He can't protect you."

Grant looked at the other man right in his eyes. "You wouldn't kill me, would you? Me, your President? – Give me your gun, Mr. Forbes."

Forbes/Coyote took a step back. "No, it's a trick…" He looked around him in alarm. "You didn't come alone, that"s impossible, you're the President, you have people protecting you…"

He suddenly froze feeling the cold mouth of a gun against the nape of his neck and in a flash Grant disarmed him. He lifted his hands.

Pressing his hand on the outlaw's shoulder Jim West ordered, "Kneel, and cross your hands behind your neck, now!"

Forbes/Coyote complied. "I see that you came back, Mr. West. Using the President as a diversion to enter the house without being seen was an excellent idea – but very risky for the President. I could have killed him," he said.

Looking at Grant Jim said, "It was the President's idea, not mine. I was strongly opposed to that idea. But he's the President. He commands, I obey."

Harvey Daniels, the Marshall of Galena and his three deputies entered the porch in their turn, followed by Dr. Henderson holding his ever-present big black bag.

Grant pointed at John Forbes/Coyote. "Take good care of him Marshall." Then he quickly sat his cigar on top of the support plate of the balustrade of the porch and helped Henderson to remove the ropes restraining Artemus in the armchair.

Lowering Artie to the stony floor, Grant said, "It's going to be all right son, hold on. Dr. Henderson is going to take care of you. I invited him for the weekend, fortunately he always has his bag with him."

It took every bit of strength Artemus had left, but he managed to open his eyes. He felt a jolt of sharp pain in his chest. "'m dying… tell my mom… tell her…"

Pressing Artie's hand in his Grant shook his head, watching the physician does a rapid but thorough survey of his patient. "You're not going to die, Artemus."

Stephen Henderson fished his stethoscope in his bag, spread the pajamas top open and quickly ran the disc all around Artie's chest. "Pulse is rapid, erratic, fluttering… that's not good."

Kneeling beside the President, Jim cupped his partner's face. "You're not going to die on me, are you? Don't forget that the President invited us to dinner." He smiled but he was full of fear. "I need you, Artie, I can't do all this without you. You can't leave me alone!"

Blinking tiredly to keep his eyes open, his breath labored, Artemus whispered, "Will… have new… partner. Don't… let him mess…my galley…or I'll haunt you…" then everything went dark.

He went limp as his eyes rolled back in his head.

Blanching Jim shook his best friend's shoulder. "Artie! Don't die!" He pressed two fingers to his companion's pulse point and… felt nothing. His heart had stopped. His chest was still. "No! No Artie! Stay with me. Don't you leave me. Do you understand?" He said his voice trembling. He leaned over, putting his trembling hand by Artie's mouth.

Nothing. He wasn't breathing anymore.

Jim shook his head in disbelief. "No, you can't die."

Henderson checked the pupils and found them fixed and dilated.

"He's in cardiac arrest," he declared to Grant and Jim both aghast.

Grant paled. "He's dead?"

Henderson nodded and Jim gasped in utter shock, eyes wide opened.

Grant closed his eyes in grief.

Stephen Henderson pulled out a syringe filled with a clear liquid from his bag. He pierced the skin and did the injection into a muscle of Artie's right thigh. "It's called epinephrine and in case of cardiac arrest, it permits the return of spontaneous circulation…and instant resuscitation. It shouldn't be long now."

Suddenly Artemus gasped and arched off the floor, eyes open with a sharp, desperate inhalation. Then he went limp and kept breathing afterward, gulping air like a fish out of water, struggling to breathe.

Grinning, Jim placed his hand on Artie's chest, so very pleased and immensely relieved to see his partner back among the living. "That's it Artie, breathe! Breathe!' he dragged a shaking hand across his face and said, in a small, broken voice, "You're back, you're back," still amazed he was. He grabbed Artemus by the shoulders to steady him and Artie started coughing. He hauled him into a sitting position, feeling him tremble like he was freezing. "Come on, breathe!"

Finally, Artemus calmed down, but he was sweating profusely and shaking even more. Jim brought him against his chest, hugging him.

He heard Artie whimpering, "Co-co-cold… m' soooo… cold."

Henderson nodded, "Cold is a symptom of the epinephrine. Could you bring him in his room, Jim? I need to do a complete medical exam." Then he smiled broadly. "Welcome back to the world of the living, Artemus."

President Grant copied his physician. "Good work, Stephen," he said, before lowering his head and let out a long sigh of relief.

Smiling weakly Artemus breathed, "Going… be… sick," then he rolled to the side and vomited his last meal and bile after that.

He closed his eyes and passed out.

Tbc.


	5. Act Four

**THE NIGHT OF THE OUTLAW**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT FOUR**

 _Artemus's bedroom_

Meow! MEOOOOW!

Hungry, White Socks let out another insisting meow as she pawed Artie's face, claws retracted. Seeing that the human wasn't waking, she turned around and ran the tip of her tail over his face. Artemus moaned but didn't open his eyes. She mewed and rubbed her head against Artie's face and Artemus finally raised a weak hand to get rid of whatever was licking his nose.

Smiling Jim took the cat in his arms. "Bad cat! Artie needs to sleep, shoo!" Then he dropped the cat to the carpeted floor.

White Socks let out a disgruntled meow and leaped on a chair where she curled in a ball.

His eyes fluttering open Artie breathed, "'Mmmgphh… 'm awake now…" He tried to move upright but it was like his body weighed tons. He let out a yelp as a sudden white-hot pain erupted in his chest. He grunted and grasped the bedspread convulsively, in agony. He gritted his teeth and threw his head back.

He was gulping for air.

Blanching Jim stood up. He was ready to fetch Dr. Henderson who was in the living room with the President, Harry and Helena when Artie suddenly closed his trembling hand on his wrist.

Tears streaming down his cheeks Artemus mouthed 'stay!' his throat dry and croaky.

Jim sat down again on the edge of the bed and watched, deeply concerned as his companion was suffering like hell.

He could see utter exhaustion in every line of his face too.

Finally, the intense pain subsided and Artemus managed to croak, "God!... I've never felt anything so painful of all my life…" He coughed, wheezed and coughed again. "It was like something was lying heavily across my chest and pressing its weight down on it. I couldn't breathe… I thought I was going to die."

Pouring water in a glass, Jim, still pale and shaken, said, "You died buddy." He slid a hand behind Artie's head and brought the glass to his parched lips. "But Dr. Henderson brought you back with a special serum of his called epinephrine."

Blinking in total surprise, Artemus drank gratefully. Then he said, "What? I was dead?... But… I don't remember anything… what happened?"

Bringing the glass of water to Artie's lips again, Jim said, "Forbes hit you on your head, and it's started a new spike of high fever. Your heart was weakened… and you had a heart attack. You were dead for one minute or so, but it was the longest minute of my whole life, an eternity!..." He smiled. "Then Henderson brought you back, and god! I was so relieved, so happy…"

Patting Jim's arm weakly, soothingly, Artemus smiled. "I'm relieved and happy to be alive too. Now… now Jim tell me everything, Jim, please."

Smiling Jim placed back the empty glass on the bedside table. He moved on the bed and sat, cross-legged, taking his partner's hand. "It's a long story."

Artie chuckled. "I'm not going anywhere."

White Socks jumped on the bed and perched herself on top of the pillow, right above Artemus's head and started pawing his tousled hair.

MEOW! She let out, still hungry.

WWW

 _Later_

It was very late or very early when Artemus padded in the kitchen, his weight supported by his crutches, followed like his shadow by White Socks.

The whole house was plunged into a semi-darkness and silent. He was alone. Jim had gone to bed hours ago, like his mom and Harry, he thought. He was sleeping when the President had visited him, Jim had told him, but Grant had promised to come back the next evening. He had headed back to Galena then. After that Dr. Henderson had told him everything medical related: everything about the epinephrine and about his future medical treatment. He had sent a telegram to the Washington Military Hospital and all the drugs needed will be here within two days, he finally mused.

The kitchen was dimly lit by a lone lamp hanging on the wall next to the door leading downstairs to the cellar but it was clear enough to see a box on the table and a bottle of cloudy lemonade.

He took a glass in the cupboard and sat gingerly on a chair, wincing. The cat leaped on the table with flexibility and grace.

Not interested in the cookie the human was holding, the feline mewed and rubbed its head against Artemus's hand. Then White Socks rolled over so Artemus could pet her white furred belly. Smiling Artemus was more than happy to oblige. She closed her eyes and purred.

Artie was eating a third chocolate cookie, remembering the last events, rubbing the soft fur on White Socks' belly, eliciting loud contented purrs from the cat, when said cat suddenly rolled onto its feet. White Socks looked up, pointed ears up and meowed a greeting.

Reaching out, Jim, dressed in his pajamas and barefoot, scratched the cat under its chin, then took his place on a chair beside Artemus. "You should be in your bed, not here." He said, upset.

Fishing a fourth cookies into the tin box Artie smiled. "I already have a mother Jim, but I appreciate your concern. I can't sleep."

Jim furrowed his brow in concern. "You still have pains in your chest?"

Artie nodded. "Yes, from time to time, but I'm going to be okay, don't worry. Dr. Henderson's treatment using various anti-arrhythmic drugs will stop arrhythmias or potential arrhythmia complications. I should be fine in a few weeks."

Plunging his hand in the tin box in his turn, taking a cookie too, James nodded. "Okay. You don't sleep much when it's full moon – besides, you're probably jumpy after what happened to you this afternoon, like I am; that's why I can't sleep either."

Artemus swallowed a bite of his cookie and said, "I woke up and remembered everything, I mean _dying_. I died – and I was dead for one minute," he said seeing the pain-filled look on Jim's face.

Jim paled remembering the whole scene in a flash. "I thought I had lost you for good, Artemus."

Breaking the rest of his cookie in tiny pieces, pensively, Artemus said, "Fortunately, Dr. Henderson brought me back with his injection of epinephrine." He filled the glass with lemonade, sliding it towards Jim then. "I died… and something incredible happened."

Jim raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What happened?"

Still reeling from what happened, Artie said, "I can only call it an _out-of-body experience_." He ran a trembling hand on the cat's black fur. White Socks was now crouched on the table, sniffing at the cookies crumbs. "I suppose what happened to me happens to people just after their death too… I was floating, Jim, levitating out of my body and above my body. I could see everyone kneeling around my body, the President, Dr. Henderson, you, I could hear everything… I said 'goodbye, I love you Jim'. I knew I was dead, but I wasn't scared or sad, I felt good, more than good actually, I never had felt anything like that: a sense of peace, total serenity and security, and profound joy… Then suddenly, darkness wrapped around me… and I came back, abruptly, and pain came back, merciless, and I felt lost and disoriented… but I was glad to be back. My first coherent thought was, 'thank god, my mother wasn't here when I died, seeing my dead body would have killed her instantly'. He lifted the cat in the air by its middle and settled White Socks on his lap. She curled into a ball here, purring. "This is _over_. I mean it. I don't want to talk about that anymore."

Playing with the feline's tail, Jim nodded. "Okay." Then he took the glass and sipped his lemonade in an awkward silence.

Silent too Artemus got absorbed in his thoughts, his eyes burning. Then, after a minute or so, tears began rolling on his pale face and he hurriedly wiped them with the back of his hand.

Setting the empty glass on the table, Jim said softly, "I think you should go back to sleep Artie. It's been a hard day for you."

The older man's eyes flashed with anger. "Don't tell me what I have to do! I'm not a child!" he spat. Fresh new tears flooded his cheeks. "Go away!" But as Jim didn't move, he stood and cried out in pain as he landed his injured foot to the tiled floor.

Frightened, the cat jumped to the floor and left the kitchen at top speed.

Standing Jim caught Artie's elbow. "Easy buddy!"

Moving back with one crutch Artemus pushed James away from him. "Leave me alone! Leave me alone!" he pleaded, almost on the verge of crying. "Leave me alone… go away!" His voice broke. "Please, go away Jim, go away!" He croaked.

Jim shook his head. "No, you need help…"

Artie raised his fist menacingly. "Go away, or I'm going to hit you!" he growled. His face was flushed and his eyes were brimming with tears.

Jim didn't move. "No."

Artemus cursed under his breath and hit Jim, right in his chin – and carried by his momentum, he collapsed to floor, heavily. He immediately hid his face with his arm as he sobbed. Jim knelt beside Artie and lowered his head to his best friend's in a companionate gesture.

He heard Artemus whisper, "I wasn't there when my dad died. He didn't see me, he didn't say "goodbye, I love you" like I did to you… I was too scared to see him die. I didn't want to be alone. I was with my friends… He left… with only my mom at his side. I'm so sorry dad, so very sorry… I was a coward, please forgive me." Then he went limp, passed out.

WWW

 _Later in Artemus's bedroom_

Harry took Artemus's pulse a last time, then he removed his fingers from the sleeping man's throat. "He's going to be all right," he declared.

Helena pressed herself against Harry and sighed in relief. "What happened?" she asked Jim. "You woke us in the middle of the night, telling us that Artemus had lost consciousness, but that's all."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Artie's hand in his, Jim told Harry and Helena what happened in the kitchen, then he finally added, "He loved his father very much."

Helena nodded. "He _adored_ his father. When he died – I almost lost Artemus too. He was down on himself and he stopped talking. He didn't leave his bedroom anymore, spending all his time reading. He stopped eating little by little and he felt sick. I didn't know what to do…" A pained look crossed her face. "My only son was dying slowly before my eyes; I was lost, I was devastated…" She leaned close to Artemus and kissed his forehead. Then she stroked his stubbled jawline, saying, "He was so weak that he couldn't do anything to stop me when I put him in the buggy. I was on my way to Galena, to see the doctor, Burton Davidson, at the time, when we met a girl on the road." Smiling she sat on the edge of the bed. "That poor girl had fallen from her horse and had injured her knee. I tied her horse to the buggy and helped her to get inside… and there was a miracle! My Artemus fell immediately in love with her, the second he saw her, and love at first sight was mutual. She was a lovely brunette, her name was Lily Fortune. When we reached Galena Artemus was transformed! He was smiling and talking again…" She stood and joined Harry.

Smiling too, Jim nodded. "She became her girlfriend, yes, I know." He moved on the bed, lying beside his partner and said, "I'm going to stay with him."

Harry took out a blanket and a pillow in the cupboard and gave them to Jim. "That's a good idea. I'm fairly certain that what happened in the kitchen won't happen again. He had a stroke, but it's over now. I think this happened because of his death and resurrection. His mind was scrambled. He's calmer now." Holding Helena against him he added, "If there's any problem, don't hesitate to come to see us again. Try to sleep, Jim, the night is still young." Then he left, Helena accompanying him.

Jim unfolded the blanket over his legs and hips then placed the pillow under his head. He looked at Artie plunged into a deep dreamless sleep. Harry had given him a large dose of laudanum after he had regained consciousness, knocking him out before he could realize anything.

"Everything is going to be okay buddy," he said.

He sincerely hoped so.

WWW

 _The next morning_

It was almost noon when Jim opened his eyes – the light of day flooding the bedroom through the windows made him cringe. He moaned, squinted, then pressed his arm down over his eyes, trying to block out the light. He finally turned on the other side… facing Artemus, sitting on the bed, caressing the black and white cat nestled on his lap. "Good morning…" He said.

Artie smiled. "Good morning, Jim."

Moving into a sitting position, James leant against the headboard. "How are you feeling this morning Artie?" he asked, concerned.

Placing his hand on his partner's shoulder Artemus said, "I've been better. I feel weak as a newborn kitten." He sighed. "And I feel horribly ashamed by what happened last night. I remembered it all after I woke. I want to apologize, Jim. I'm sincerely sorry for my unacceptable behavior. Please forgive me."

Placing his hand on Artemus's arm, James said, "There's nothing to forgive, buddy. You were pretty shaken and distressed after the whole dying and resurrecting thing. Your usually ordered brain was scrambled. It's nothing, I already have forgotten it."

Feeling a lot better Artemus pressed his best friend's shoulder warmly. "Thank you Jim. But something good came out for that over-emotional outbreak last night… it's triggered something in my brain and my memory's back." He grinned and added, "For example, I remember what happened in our last assignment. I fought two men in a kitchen armed with a frying pan. By the way the beef Stroganoff was delicious! Boy! I couldn't resist the temptation, and I was hungry, so I ate the whole casserole. When you saw the knocked out and tied up servants you were surprised and asked me how I did it, and I answered, 'I cheated, I used force.' I was very upset. You know I don't like to fight. I prefer to talk a man out of it, but sometimes a diplomatic approach doesn't work as people don't want to discuss, so… I have to use force. Like in this case. Oh! And before that, when you and I were locked in a cell, I gave you one of my best and latest inventions, a cigar with a thermite charge, I call the cigar-blow-torch, and we fled from prison."

Petting the cat's head Jim nodded. "That was a good cigar too. You should think about making explosive cigar, a mix between a cigar and a stick of dynamite. It could be very helpful too, one day."

Scratching White Socks under her chin, Artie nodded. "That's a very good idea! I'm going to think about it. An exploding cigar, hmm… I have to draw technical schematics."

Jim chuckled. "Welcome back Artemus!"

Both smiling broadly they hugged. They parted from each other when they heard a knock at the door. It opened shortly after, revealing Helena and Harry.

Helena smiled, entering the room first, feeling reassured. "It's so good to see that my boys… I was afraid that you are no longer friends after waking up."

Artemus shook his head. "That's impossible, mom. Jim and I are like brothers." He smiled when his mother kissed the top of his head.

WWW

 _Later, in the kitchen_

Helena Gordon frowned and tapped on his son's hand with a spoon – reaching towards the apple pie, for the third time. "Think about the others, Artemus! Where are your manners?"

His mouth full Artie nodded and mumbled, "I'm sorry mom," crumbs falling from his mouth onto the table and on his knees.

He giggled.

Artie took a sip of coffee, swallowed and burped loudly.

Helena frowned again.

New giggles.

Artemus grabbed a cookie and shoved it in his mouth, whole and crunched it. A shower of crumbs fell onto the table again.

He wetted his fingers and picked them up with a new fit of giggles.

Smiling Jim rolled his eyes and said, "You maybe have recovered your memory, Artie, but I think you reverted to childhood. You usually eat without making a mess."

Artie stuck out his tongue at Jim.

Jim chuckled. "How five-year-old of you, Artemus."

Helena nodded and gave her son a disapproving glare but she was half smiling. "That could explain why is acting like a five year old. You're not the only one who loves apple pie, _my boy_. Emphasis on _my boy_. I taught you to share and to be well-bred."

Artie put on his best pouting face.

It didn't amuse Harry. Switching in doctor mode he asked, "How are you feeling, Artemus?"

Looking at his mother's companion, he said, "I feel relaxed, warm, light-headed, euphoric! Silly." then he grinned, his face flushed. "I feel very good."

Harry nodded. "Mmm… I think your childish behavior is a repercussion of what happened. You died, came back, had an over-emotional outbreak and recovered your memory. There's a lot to take in for your brain and it has generated an exhilarating state to prevent a kind of 'overheating' that could be harmful – while it 'digests' everything that happened in a short time. That's why you're reacting that way. Like you said, you're relaxed, warm, light-headed euphoric, silly. It's like you're drunk."

Pouring himself a glass of milk, Artie said, "Exactly! Except that I'm not very drunk, I just have the symptoms, plus some pains due to my sprained ankle and my headache." He giggled. "But I don't care!" He took a sip then sat the half-empty glass on the tiled floor.

Roaming under the table, meowing hungrily, White Socks immediately dipped her tiny pink tongue inside, slurping happily at her milk, sweeping the floor with her tail from side to side.

Artie giggled again. "Good kitty…"

Helena frowned again. "You're spoiling my cat, yielding to her every whim. White Socks will be even more demanding after you left."

There was a knock at the door and Dr. Henderson appeared on the threshold of the kitchen. "Good morning, Mrs. Gordon, Doctor Clover, Artemus, Jim."

Helena smiled. "Doctor Henderson, please do come in. Do you want a piece of my apple pie and a cup of coffee?"

The medical officer nodded. "Yes, thank you very much." He headed toward the table and sat on a chair beside Artemus. He immediately noticed his patient's flushed skin, silly grin and his glossy eyes. He frowned. "Are you drunk Artemus?" he asked.

Smiling around his cup of coffee Artie shook his head. "Me? No-no-no-noooooo, I'm not drunk, but I have the symptoms. Harry's going to tell you everything."

He sat his empty cup of coffee then picked up the cat and perched it on his shoulder. Once there, White Socks started to purr. "Cats love being perched on something – or someone," he said. Then he poured himself a second glass of milk and put it on his head, holding it.

Still hungry, the feline put its front paws on Artie's head and began lapping the white creamy liquid and Artemus giggled again.

Harry sighed and told Dr. Henderson what happened last night and why, according to him, Artemus was behaving like this.

Stephen Henderson nodded. "It's a good explanation, doctor," he said. "It's a kind of self-defense system. Too many dreadful sensations were potentially devastating for the brain, so Artemus's brain short-circuited them, opposing them with relaxing sensations. That's why he's acting like a drunk man." He looked at Artie who was trying to purr like a cat. "Artemus, I need to examine you. Could we go somewhere else, like in your bedroom? It would be more comfortable."

Nodding Artemus lowered the almost empty glass of milk and the cat onto the table and then rubbed his nose against White Socks's, purring.

The feline purred in response.

WWW

 _Later_

Helena Gordon knocked at the door and entered her son's bedroom. "Is everything all right, doctor?" she asked, worried.

Stephen Henderson closed his big black bag. "He's going to be all right. He should become again himself in a while, this state of drunkenness without being actually drunk won't last; it is temporary." He looked at Artemus, who made shadows to the wall with his hands and the help of the sun.

Artie giggled. "See doctor? It's a dog!" he moved his fingers and barked like a dog. He giggled again. "This is so amusing…"

A frown creased Helena's brow. She was not convinced. "Are you sure?"

Dr. Henderson smiled. "Yes, I'm sure. His brain needs a pause." He took his bag and said, "Artemus, you're going to stay with Jim; he's going to take care of you."

Creating the shadow of a flying bird on the wall Artie nodded. "Okay. Can you ask Jim to come here? I want to show him this…see? It's a bird!"

The physician smiled. "I will, goodbye, Artemus. I'll visit you again tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, take some rest."

Busy doing another shadow, Artie nodded. "Yes, I will."

Soon after, James entered the bedroom, White Socks following him; finding Artemus making the shadow of a rabbit on the wall. "Nice," he commented. He sat on the edge of the bed and said, "What about coming with me to the stable. Chestnut needs to be pampered. I'll do it of course."

Artemus stopped what he was doing and hugged Jim. "Thank you for taking care of me." Then he left the bed, took his crutches and followed Jim in the corridor.

White Socks jumped on the bed and sprawled on the best spot of the bed – the fluffy and comfy pillow. She yawned and closed her eyes.

WWW

 _Much later, on the evening_

Caressing White Socks curled into a ball purring on his lap, Artemus Gordon was sitting in an armchair on the porch, his injured ankle resting on a pile of pillows, when a visitor joined him.

Ulysses S. Grant smiled. "Good evening, Artemus, may I join you?"

Surprised, Artemus tried to stand but Grant stopped him, placing his hand on his. "No, don't move!" the older man said.

Blinking in surprise Artie said, "Yes, Sir."

Grant took his place on another armchair. White Socks opened her eyes, looked at the other human, unfazed and re-started purring. "Jim told me what happened since the last time we met and Dr. Henderson gave his report to me. How are you feeling?"

Scratching the cat behind its pointed ears, Artemus said, "I feel okay – more than okay actually. I feel very, very good – my ankle and my head are still painful though. But it doesn't matter."

President Grant nodded and fished around in the pockets of his jacket (loaded with two dozens of cigars, a day's supply, like during the war), taking out two long, thick, cigars and a small pocket knife.

Grant opened it and clipped the end of the cigars off, then handed one to the other man. "Let's discuss a little you and me, Artemus," he said, pocketing the small knife. Then he raised his cigar to his mouth, placing it between his teeth.

Smiling Artemus said, "Thank you Mr. President. If I may ask, Sir, what do you want to talk about?" He suddenly blanched. "Oh no! No! You're not going to fire me from the Secret Services, Sir? My condition is temporary, ask Dr. Henderson. With Dr. Henderson's treatment I should be, no, _I will_ be fine in a while… Don't fire me, Mr. President."

Ulysses S. Grant pulled out a box of matches from his breast coat pocket, scratched one against the armrest and lighted up his cigar. He took a deep drag from his big cigar and puffed out a long, slow breath of smoke. "I'm not going to fire you, Artemus, I know that your condition is temporary, I have every confidence in Stephen's diagnosis. He's never wrong, and I wouldn't, I couldn't lose my one of my best agents," he said, tinged blue smoke escaping between his lips as he spoke.

Feeling immensely relieved, Artemus finally copied Grant, sticking the cigar between his own teeth. The President scratched a new match and lit Artie's cigar.

His faux-drunkenness symptoms suddenly gone, Artemus took a series of short draws, kept the smoke in his mouth for a moment, then blew it out. "That's strong, just like the way I like it," he said. "The last time I smoked a cigar was after Jim and I completed our last mission, and it was a real cigar, not one of my gadgets." He took a long drag of his cigar, and puffed out a second breath of smoke watching the smoke curl thickly into the air. Curious, he asked, "What do you want to discuss we me, then, Sir?"

Ulysses S. Grant smoked his cigar slowly for a couple of minutes. Finally, looking at Artemus right in his eyes he said, "You have to expel what eats away at you, Artemus, otherwise you will always be unhappy."

Abruptly sobered up, Artemus asked, "What do you mean?"

Grant sighed. "You know what I mean. Your father's death is haunting you. Talking to someone could help you to feel better…"

Jaws clenched, on the defensive, Artie said, "With all due respect Sir, it's private matter. Did my mother ask you to address the issue with me?"

The President nodded. "She's your mother and she's very worried about you – and even more after what happened in the kitchen with Jim. She wants to help you – everyone here wants to help you. She thought that you could tell me things, as I love you very much… I promise I will keep everything to myself. No one else will know – not even your mother. You can trust me. You know that."

Hesitating, Artemus petted White Socks's soft fur nervously and the cat noticed it, meowing in displeasure. "Yes, Sir."

Ulysses S. Grant tried again, a quiet expression on his face, in quiet tones, with well-chosen words, "Tell me about your father's death. It could help you to exorcize it. It must have been very traumatizing for a young man." He reached a hand out and touched the other man's chest, right above his heart. "You have to get it off your chest, son; it will do you good, trust me. I'm here, Artemus, you can tell me everything. I'll keep it to myself. I promise."

Lowering his eyes to the cat settled on his lap Artemus said, his voice broken, "My father died from a rapidly degenerative and incurable disease. He lost his senses one by one before losing his mobility and finally, his mind. He died in a terrible crisis of dementia. My mom was here, at his side. I wasn't. I couldn't. It's was too much for me. I wasn't at home that terrible night." He paused, trying to keep welling tears at bay. "When I saw him the next morning… he was lying on his bed. He was dead and looked peaceful…" Tears began rolling on his pale cheeks. Sensing the human's distress, the feline nuzzled Artie's neck. "I loved him so much, Sir… you can't imagine. I missed him so much… and I still do. I died inside the second I saw his dead body…" He started crying softly, wiped his tears with the back of his hand. His face abruptly contracted in anger. "At the funeral, I wasn't crying, I wasn't sad, I was angry! I was angry at him. He was dead and he had left me alone! He had left my mom alone, too, and I was angry at me! I could have helped him more, finding a remedy to his illness… I searched in my father's books and found formulas – he was a pharmacist as you know – and I created potions and lotions, ointments and painkillers, but nothing worked. I wasn't good enough. I could have done much more!... like searching in other medical books than I had or sending letters to the most brilliant physicians explaining his illness in detail… but I didn't. I failed. And-and I'm so ashamed now. He was _there_ after he died, floating above his body, like I did, and I wasn't at his side. I didn't say 'goodbye, I love you dad' to him and he didn't say goodbye to me and 'I love you son'…He-he had…" He paused, swallowing hard, tears suddenly prickling at his eyes, hunching his shoulders. It came out as a hoarse whisper, "He had to be very disappointed in me…I was a _coward_."

Artemus was so distressed that he was gasping for breath. Big, hot tears started rolling down his face and he lowered his head. He fought to get himself under control but lost the battle. He dropped his cigar to the tiled floor before hiding his tears-flooded face in his trembling hands.

A lump formed in Grant's throat as he watched that. Sitting his cigar to the floor, the older man said, "I'm really sorry, Artemus." He pulled up his armchair as close as possible from Artie's.

The cat jumped to the ground – feeling that the two humans needed to be alone to discuss together and it padded inside the house, heading toward the kitchen.

Grant pressed the other man in his arms, stroking his hair, letting Artemus rest his head on his shoulder as he cried his eyes out. "It's all right, Artemus, everything is all right," he said stroking along Artie's back in slow comforting circles.

Ulysses S. Grant wasn't a demonstrative man, excepted with his family that he loved above all – and he loved Artemus Gordon like he was his own son. He held the other man tightly as Artemus cried without shame like a boy, not muffling the sound of his rough sobs, wetting his shirt.

Eventually Artemus's sobs turned to whimpers and then sniffles.

The President reached a hand out, resting it on the top of the distressed man's head. "It's all right, you're going to be all right now" he said, reassuring, comforting.

Finally, Artemus managed to pull himself together as he regained composure and he parted from Grant. "I'm sorry, Sir, Mister President," he said sniffing wetly, touching the older man's tears-damp shirt.

Ulysses S. Grant stood and pressed Artie's shoulder paternally, planting his sharp blue eyes in Artie's gentle chocolate. "Listen to me carefully, Artemus!"

The firmness in the President's voice caught Artemus off guard. He blinked twice. "What? Yes, Sir."

Grant continued, "I just want to tell you three things: one, a man who has earned two medals of Honor for bravery is no coward. You never were a coward even as a young man, and you never will be. Two, you couldn't help your father, no one could, much less a young man. What you did to help him was extraordinary, and three, your father loved you dearly, till the end and after he passed away and he was never disappointed in you. Ever. I'm going to add a fourth thing: I'm very fortunate and very proud to have you at my side… and I love you like you were one of my own children. You're an amazing man Artemus Gordon, you're honest, righteous, loyal, brave, kind, generous, always willing to help others without asking anything in return. You're the definition of a _good man_. Don't ever change." He smiled and patted the younger man's shoulder.

New tears appeared on Artie's cheeks – which had regained some color. "Thank you Sir, and I'm very fortunate and proud to be at your side – and I love you very much, too, Sir. And if I had to have another father, I would choose you immediately."

Grant smiled. "Thank you, Artemus." He picked up his almost cold cigar lying on the tiles, scratched a new match on a column and re-lit it.

Artemus smiled, feeling a lot better.

The President stood up and re-lit Artemus's cigar, that the other man had retrieved too. "I wish you a good night, Artemus, sleep well. I'll come back tomorrow evening with my wife. Your mother has invited us for dinner. I accepted with great pleasure. I heard that your mother is a great cook. She promised me to bake buckwheat cakes for me, I just can't get enough of them. It is my well-known guilty pleasure. I will invite everyone to dinner, like I had planned to do tonight, later, when you feel better, and at the White House. Oh! Dr. Henderson had proposed a four months medical leave following your cardiac arrest. I agree. Of course Jim will stay here with you. The two of you are inseparable. I'll see you tomorrow evening. Take care of yourself, son." Then he headed inside the house.

He was replaced shortly after by James West, holding White Socks in his arms. The black and white feline was purring loudly.

Jim immediately noticed Artie's broad smile around his cigar. He sighed in relief. "Feeling better buddy?" he asked, sitting in the armchair Grant had vacated.

Scratching the cat's neck Artemus took a big puff of his cigar and released the smoke. He nodded. "Yes, I'm okay – now. Everything's back to normal, my memory's back and I'm not 5 in my head anymore. That discussion with Grant was… liberating. Where's the President?"

Lowering the cat to the tiled floor Jim said, "He's talking with your mother and Harry, telling them the good news. So he managed to help you?"

Smiling Artie nodded. "Yes, he did. He helped me before and he will do it again, no doubt." He took White Socks in his arms and she rubbed her head against his jaw. "Mmmmm… I feel a lot better, sobered up, that's nice. Even my headache is gone." And he took a new inhale on his cigar.

Reassured Jim smiled. "I'm glad to hear that." Then he patted his partner's arm. "See you later buddy. I need to help Harry in the kitchen." And he left the porch.

Surrounded by a cloud of smoke Artemus closed his eyes, caressing the feline settled on his lap, the cat's loud purrs contributing to relaxation.

He cleared his mind of any thoughts and concentrated on the pleasure of petting White Socks, now lazily cleaning her paws, and smoking his cigar.

WWW

Helena joined her son a few minutes later, holding a plate containing a piece of apple pie covered with whipped cream and a spoon in one hand and an ashtray in the other.

She kissed Artemus's stitches-less temple and put the plate and the spoon in his free hand. "Here, eat something, my boy, you need it after what you went through. I've made it for you. But don't be a bad boy, don't let crumbs fall on the floor!" then she smirked.

Placing his half-gone cigar in the glass ashtray his mom was holding he said, "Thank you mom," and began digging into his pie with enthusiasm.

Helena smiled and pressed a kiss on the top of her son's head. " _Kocham cię Artemus_ ," she said. I love you, Artemus."

Artie smiled and crumbs from his pie fell on his lap. White Socks smell at them, licked a bit of whipped cream then returned to her grooming. " _Kocham cię mamo_ , I love you mom, " he replied.

WWW

 _Four months later_

Chestnut nuzzled Artemus's hair welcoming him back. Artie patted his horse's neck. "It's time to go home big boy, on board the Wanderer," he said. The gelding butted him with affection.

Artie turned around and smiled to his mother standing behind him, beside Harry. He took her in his arms and hugged her before kissing her forehead. "Goodbye mom, and take care of yourself, I will miss you very much. I'll try to come back as soon as I can. But I don't know when."

Helena kissed her son on his forehead. "I will miss you very much, my boy. Take care of yourself." She smiled at Jim standing beside his stallion and headed toward him. She hugged him too and said, "Take care of yourself James, and come back together."

Kissing Helena's cheek with affection, Jim said, "I promise, Helena. Goodbye, and take care of yourself."

Harry shook Artie's hand. "I'm going to miss you, Artemus. It was good to see you again. But next time, try to come back in one piece, alright?" He smiled.

Hugging the older man Artie said, "I'll do my best, but no promises. Goodbye Harry, it was a pleasure to see you again, and thank you for your help." Then he took a step back and watched Jim shake the doctor's hand in his turn.

He noticed White Socks rubbing against his right leg. He scooped up her in his arms, smiled and petted the cat's head. She mewed and buried her face into his hand, purring. "Goodbye White Socks, I'm going to miss you," he said." He lowered the cat to the ground and added, "Obey your mistress."

White Socks meowed, rubbed against Helena's left leg to signal that she loved her mistress and padded toward Chestnut.

Standing on its hind legs in front of the horse, whiskers erected, the cat let out a loud meow and the gelding lowered his head, sniffing at the black and white feline.

White Socks let out a series of different meows, modulating them.

Helena smiled, "She's probably telling Chestnut to take care of you."

Artie chuckled. "Probably."

Harry placed a hand on James's shoulder. "Keep an eye on Artemus will you. He seems to be a magnet for trouble."

Jim chuckled. "I know that, don't worry Harry, I will." And he mounted his horse, prancing with impatience.

Artemus gave a last kiss to her mother's forehead, then mounted his gelding, as calm as Blackjack was impatient and said, "Goodbye mom, goodbye Harry."

Smiling, James touched the brim of his hat and kicked his stallion into motion and Artemus copied him a few seconds later.

They headed toward Galena where the Wanderer was stationed in the railroad yard.

Tbc.


	6. Tag

**THE NIGHT OF THE OUTLAW**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **TAG**

 _Washington D.C. railroad yard,_

 _The Wanderer, three weeks later, at night_

Blinking a few times, Artemus Gordon closed his newly purchased chemistry book. He yawned and settled it on the carpeted floor of the parlor car.

He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his puffy and fatigue-fogged eyes.

Bone weary, his eyelids drooping, he lay down on the golden upholstered sofa on his side and nestled his head on the comfy pillow.

He was asleep within seconds.

Sitting at the table, holding the newspaper with one hand, James West poured his cup of coffee (Artie's coffee) and took a long drink of it, loving its rich and powerful aroma. He started reading the entertainment page of the Washington Herald. After a few minutes he said, "There's a new play at the National Theater, "The Three Musketeers" with Alan Johnson in the lead role, D'Artagnan. You played together in some Shakespeare's plays before the war, didn't you? We could buy two tickets for tomorrow night's performance, go to a good restaurant before the play and then end the soirée in a French café a few blocks from the White House." He took a sip of coffee. "What do you think?" Silence. There was no response. "Artie?"

He lowered the pages of the newspaper and watched Artie's tall frame cramped in the sofa. The other man was sleeping. Artemus's face was slack and, his color was ashen and the circles underneath his eyes were dark and shadowy. He knitted his eyebrows together. What happened in Green Hill had excessively fatigued his best friend and he couldn't stay up late now. He had not yet recovered all his strength, not even after a four months leave, he thought.

After Artemus's last not-so-good medical examination at the Washington Military Hospital, Dr. Henderson's orders had been: convalescence extended until a next satisfying medical examination with a lot of rest, a minimum of physical efforts and a prolonged medical treatment, and Artemus had complied. He felt better now, and would feel better with time. He was a man of solid stature, he reflected. That's why, for the past two weeks, they were escorting the President everywhere in Washington, from a reception at an embassy to another one, from a banquet at the White House in honor of important foreign guests to another one, from a political meeting with Senators and Governors to another one, to a state dinner to another one, etc., he added in his mind. Instead of wandering around the country by train and horse, they were stuck in the Capital 'babysitting' Ulysses S. Grant. But that wasn't disagreeable – at all. They had met very interesting people and had found time to meet and date some lovely young ladies… Jim mused with a smile.

Still smiling Jim stood, took the coverlet folded on the backrest of a chair and unfolded it on his partner's legs, then pulled it upward to his shoulders. "Sleep well, buddy," he said.

Artie's eyelids fluttered open, only to close again a split second later, the older man mumbling something inaudible.

Jim dimmed the lights then and was on his way to lock the door, when he heard someone knock on it.

Artie and he didn't expect anyone. So he grabbed the gun sitting in the drawer of the writing desk and opened the door shortly after… finding no one on the rear platform of the Wanderer.

Frowning he looked around him and noticed a dark silhouette running away on the train platform. Then he heard a pitiful mewling. Mrrrewwww…

Lowering his eyes, he discovered a big cardboard box with a white and light orange not-quite-tabby kitten inside staring at him, miserable-looking, and a note.

He took the box inside the parlor car and placed it on the table.

He took the note then and read, "Take good care of her, I can't." Then he fished the mini cat out of the box as it was attempting to climb up the cardboard wall to get to him. He cradled the feline slightly against his chest and ran his fingers through the kitten's striped fur gently. Big light amber eyes, adorable little baby pink nose, tiny pointed ears, erected whiskers and small swinging tail won his heart immediately. "Hello, little, furry buddy," he said, smiling broadly.

Mew.

The kitten lifted a small paw and pressed against James's face. Immediately Jim felt his heart melt over the little piece of fluff and he couldn't help but grin like an idiot when it purred softly. "Oh my! You're just an adorable baby cat!" he cooed.

The kitten let out a soft meow, waving his white and orange striped tail as the human lightly rubbed a finger up and down its spine.

Heading toward his best friend, James gently unhooked the kitten's claws from his shirt and then lowered the bi-colored ball of fluff besides Artemus's head. "Let me introduce you to your new master. This is Artemus Gordon, Special Agent extraordinaire and big cat lover. He's going to take good care of you from now on."

Curious, the small cat sniffed Artemus's face, nose twitching. He patted Artie's nose with its paw then nuzzled the part of the human's face that wasn't buried in the pillow, whiskers brushing Artemus's cheek and jaw, trying to wake him up.

Sleeping soundly, Artie didn't react.

After a few seconds of 'let's get acquainted with Artemus time', the kitten let out another meow. Then using tiny sets of claws, it climbed on the pillow, finding a comfortable spot on top of the older man's head, pawing the dark curls, tousling them happily, making a mess of its new master's neatly combed hair, before making itself at home there, curling up and purring.

Jim chuckled softly. "I think Artie's just been adopted," he said.

WWW

 _The next morning_

Grinning Jim placed a cardboard box besides Artie's plate. "I've something for you Artemus," he said. "It's a surprise."

Surprised Artie landed his toast on his plate and lifted his eyebrows. "Something for me? A surprise? My birthday is not before months, Jim."

James nodded. "I know that, Artemus. Open it."

Standing, Artie opened the flaps on the cardboard and gasped in surprise discovering a white and light orange kitten inside.

Jim could only laugh at Artie's awestruck face. "Surprise!"

Immediately melting at the sight of the kitten, Artemus gently took the mini cat by its midsection and lifted it up in the air, a huge grin on his face, from ear to ear. "It's a kitten! Oh boy! It's beautiful," he said, beaming. "Ooh! He's adorable! Who's the prettiest kitty? Hello! Beautiful little fella."

Pacing the empty box to the ground Jim said, "It's a she, a girl. Someone abandoned her on the rear platform of the Wanderer last night when you were sleeping. She's yours."

Smiling broadly, Artemus cradled the small animal against his chest, caressing it softly with his fingertips. "She can't be more than a few months old, judging by her size." He let out a soft chuckle when the kitten pawed his face playfully. "You should have woken me up."

James shook his head. "You needed your rest buddy, and I know you, you would have played with that adorable ball of fur all night long."

Th _e_ kitten, not content just to be tucked up on Artie's chest and petted, lifted itself up further so it could stand on its human's shoulder. Once there the mini-cat looked around him with curiosity, surveying the place – its new territory.

"Thank you, Jim. I always wanted a cat on board the Wanderer," Artemus said." And he grinned when he baby cat started rubbing its head on his unshaven face in an affectionate gesture, purring. "She loves me."

Jim nodded. "All the cats love you, Artie. I know that you always wanted a cat. We had a few stowaway cats on board the Wanderer, but none of them stayed on board, and you were disappointed each time. This one will stay; she'll live here with us. And I love cats too."

Perched on Artemus's shoulder the kitten looked up at the human, purring, then it poked its tongue out and licked Artie's jawline, purring – _grooming_ him.

Raising his hand to dislodge the kitten from his perch, Artemus felt the mini-feline nudge its head into his hand then lick, suck on his thumb, nibbling it too. He sighed in pleasure.

Artie lowered the baby cat and held it to his chest and scratched the kitten behind the ears, making it purr. "Oooh! She's adorable," he cooed. "A least you didn't find a box with leopards inside! It would have been more problematic. Bigger teeth and claws – and they don't like cuddles."

Stroking the mini-cat's head, eliciting a new series of purrs, Jim chuckled. "Perhaps one day, who knows? What are you going to call her?"

Landing the cat on the table, on a clear spot between the plates and the glasses, Artie shook his head. "I don't know…" He poured some milk into a saucer and the white and orange ball of fluff immediately lapped it up, making tiny feeding sounds as it slurped up the milk.

Artemus took a jar of homemade orange marmalade in one hand and a spoon in the other and said, "I know, I'm going to call her marmalade. It does have a nice ring to it."

Jim nodded. "Yes, it's a nice name. I'm going to call her 'Marmie', a mix between Marmelade and Artie: Marmie. It's nice. Artie and Marmie."

The kitten looked up at Artie, wiggling its ears adoringly, whiskers dripping and let out another meow, whiny. The saucer was empty.

Marmelade dug her paws and tiny sharp claws in Artemus's arm, her amber eyes wide with want. Mew? He winced.

Mew! Mewwwww! She let out again plaintively.

Artie smiled. "She's really hungry!"

Pouring milk in the saucer again, Artie was rewarded by a lick on his hand and a mini purr, and Marmalade, or Marmie, lapped up her milk, wagging her tiny tail in pleasure.

Jim smirked while spreading his toast with strawberry jam. "She's started training you well. You'll make a good master, I'm sure."

Marmie gave a last lap to the milk then padded toward Artemus, pawing his tie, trying to claw it apart. "No, no, no, no!" Artie said, raising a stern finger.

The kitten tilted its head slightly to one side, curious.

Mew?

Jim chuckled. "Maybe she doesn't like your tie."

Marmalade jumped on Artie's chest making her way up his shirt to cuddle his face. She nuzzled against the human's nose, resting her head under his chin, purring. Then she climbed up Artie's shoulders and onto his head and sat there. Dominating, surveying her territory again.

Once there, in conquered territory, Marmie relaxed, licked Artemus's tousled hair a few times and began cleaning her paws, licking the soft pink pads.

Jim beamed. "It's just adorable!"

The older man scooped the small furball off of his head, earning a disgruntled mew. "Shush! My head is off limits, Marmalade." He rubbed his nose against the kitten's forehead and chuckled as the mini-cat licked the tip of his nose with a tiny sandpapery tongue. "Now that you have a name, I'm going to find you cat things: a litter box, litter, a basket, a blanket, something to scratch - Because it is out of the question that you scratch sofas and shred the cushions, or anything else, for that matter." He landed the kitten at his feet. Looking down at Marmalade he continued, "She's only a few weeks old, and therefore can't eat solid food… most kittens want to eat at least three or four meals a day… Mmm… I'm going to feed her with boiled fish and chicken meat cut into tiny pieces. She's going to need toys, yes, I know, I'm going to create faux-mechanical-mice for her…" He said to the kitten standing on its hind legs and pawing at his legs. "You're going to need something to perch on, so I'm going to build a faux tree for you, so you can climb on it and _not_ on the furniture…" He watched Marmie sniff at his shoes then tsked, as the kitten began to claw up his pant leg. He picked Marmalade up and let the kitten cling to his shoulder.

Jim chuckled. "She doesn't like your pants either, Artie. But she likes your shoulder – and your head. She slept on it all night long."

Artie nodded. "Let's find you something else to sleep on, like a basket, and a blanket." Then, the mini cat perched on his shoulder he headed towards his lab.

Mew.

The end


End file.
